


In the Company of Monsters

by Chiaki_Hamano



Series: In the company of... [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Action, Alternative Perspective, Angst, Bat Brothers, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark, Future Fic, Hurt/Comfort, I can't write anything that isn't dark, Joker is a bad bad man, M/M, Might be a tiny bit underage with Dami being like 16-17?, Multi, NO CAPES, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Salty Bat boys, Slow Burn, That needs to be a real tag btw, alternative universe, and now, and still not sorry by the way, kind of, post WWIII, the familiar tag y'all should expect by now, you heard that right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-08-27
Packaged: 2018-10-29 03:12:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 171,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10845303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiaki_Hamano/pseuds/Chiaki_Hamano
Summary: There was no way of knowing that deep inside the Interrogation Center in the northern wing, blood-curdling screams were muffled by sound-proof walls. Or that the walls and floors weren’t made of tiles for aesthetic purpose but rather because it was easier to wash off the blood that often stained them. There were no indications that within these walls, people were often dragged back into their cells or sometimes, carried to the freight elevator – an area that typically had one destination: the Incinerator in the basement of the Tower.◉◉◉The Inspector reached out to tap her well-cared manicured nails against the glass. Damian didn’t react to the noise. He didn’t react to much at all.“Why can’t Grayson or Todd fill in Wayne’s position?” Inspector Drake asked finally.General Kent frowned. “Agent Richard, he’s specialized in espionage while Agent Jason is specialized in assassination of precise targets –”Once again, he was interrupted mid-speech.“Ah, so the Monster is your weapon of mass destruction.”There wasn’t a need for a clarification.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [In the company of shadows](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/289161) by Sonny & Ais. 



> So this was supposed to be for prompt no.52: Justice but then it just spiralled out of control and I just... I... yeah... I need a break from TD&TN so... welcome to _another_ dark fic of mine (Seriously, guys. If you ever read two of any of my fics, you guys should know I can't write anything else that doesn't tag as 'dark'. Wonder what that says about me.) This is... Alternative Earth, Post WWIII, apocalypse-ish without zombies.
> 
> Well, enough rambling. I should just... let you guys read... And then, decide if you like it or not. If you do, please kindly leave me a comment to let me know. I would appreciate that a lot. As for pairings, DamiTim and JayDick are the prominent ones but along the way, if I feel like kinky foursome time, there might be some. You have been properly warned.
> 
> P/S: I used the name Jack Napier as another name for the Joker. I hope you guys don't mind it too much. Please don't mind my terrible English. It's not my first language and I trade speed for accuracy... (It's terrible, I know...)

The Fourth Floor Detainment Center was a bleak place to be. It was a large complex, winding halls leading off to separate holding areas. If an outsider did manage to sneak in, they would be lost in the seemingly never ending maze. The sections looked exactly the same despite holding different functions. Each corridor was the same sickly white, the harsh fluorescent lights illuminated the gray tile floor and cold air from the AC breathing down people’s necks.

 

At first glance, the place looked like any normal hospital or institution.

 

There was no way of knowing that deep inside the Interrogation Center in the northern wing, blood-curdling screams were muffled by sound-proof walls. Or that the walls and floors weren’t made of tiles for aesthetic purpose but rather because it was easier to wash off the blood that often stained them. There were no indications that within these walls, people were often dragged back into their cells or sometimes, carried to the freight elevator – an area that typically had one destination: the Incinerator in the basement of the Tower.

 

The staff here was just as deceptive. Doctors and psychiatrists existed for the sole purpose of reading the inmates; figuring what made them tick and what the best tactics would be before proceeding with appropriate punishment and interrogation.

 

Medical doctors on the Fourth were entrusted with the task of keeping the prisoners alive until the League was ready to dispose of them or for any other purpose.

 

In reality, the Fourth Floor Detainment Center held a variety of inmates that ranged from enemy captives who were ruthlessly interrogated before their fate was decided, to employees of the League who had committed a severe enough infraction to warrant torture-interrogation or a stint of isolation in the Holding Wing. For others, the Fourth was a final destination as they awaited their termination.

 

And for one infamous man, the Fourth was the holding area in between uses.

 

Today, the man seemed to be in the forefront of everyone’s minds. Several guards huddled together inside a cell in Maximum Security Wing while two were lingering outside in the hallway.

 

Officer Wally West had seen several cells in the Maximum Security Wing but none of them was quite like this, which had been especially designed to contain the highly unpredictable man inside.

 

The entire wall between the cell and the hallway was made from bulletproof, highly reinforced glass, allowing no place for the prisoner to hide from the watchful eyes. Even if the onsite guards missed something, the guards monitoring the cameras would notice and raise the alarm.

 

Wally had been in the monitor room before. The entire compound was watched by cameras but there was a whole wall dedicated to the Maximum Security Wing. He also knew that the area had more cameras than even some of the lesser-used buildings had on all of their floors.

 

“They’re letting him out again?” Wally asked with an expression that warred between wariness, disgust and fear. The set of his jaw emphasized his horror. “Captain Dent was killed trying to detain him and now they’re reinstating him? Even after everything that’s happened?”

 

Officer Malcolm Duncan just shrugged, not particularly surprised by the news. He watched the guards inside the cell, large men who were outfitted in riot gear, surrounding a structure that could only be described as a _box_. It was six feet by five feet, appeared to be made entirely of metal. The structure functioned as a ‘cell inside a cell’, the most extreme form of punishment for a man that had committed extreme acts of violence.

 

“I know you’re a new kid, but you need to learn that asking questions in this place is a good way to get your own detainment cell…” Malcolm muttered softly. He shifted and crossed his arms over the black and gray uniform all guards were required to wear. “…Even if we aren’t agents, that still goes for us.”

 

Wally couldn’t stop the glare fast enough. His indignation was clear in his green eyes. “Don’t call me kid, Malcolm. I’m not a newbie anymore. My first job was when we escorted this nutcase up six months ago. I was backup security for his escort just like we are now, and he just… frigging ripped my commanding officer’s throat out with his teeth like it was nothing. The cowards I was with were too scared to even interfere.”

 

Wally tried to mask a poorly disguised grimace at the memory as he watched the guards entered the cell to extract the Monster. The day played in his mind like a movie.

 

He vividly recalled the monster’s seemingly glowing green eyes as he’d dragged Captain Dent backward into the cell and then…

 

“He should not be allowed out of that cell.” Wally said finally, pressing his lips together tightly. His gaze sharpened as he focused on the movements, fingers twitching with anticipation.

 

Malcolm arched an eyebrow, obviously not impressed. He gave Wally a flat look. “You’re preaching a choir here, rookie. None of us guards like it but not much is up to us. We are here to secure the base, turn a blind eye to the weird shit we see here, and not ask too many questions.” Malcolm gave a one shouldered shrug. “But if you want my opinion… It’s fucking insane that they even let this crazy bastard work for the League.”

 

Wally nodded. “Exactly.”

 

“You know the full story, kid?” Malcolm asked.

 

A shrug.

 

“Just rumors.”

 

Malcolm narrowed his eyes, studying the cell. He took a deep breath before exhaling slowly. “Okay fine, I’m just going to say this once so you’d better listen carefully. And don’t go around telling people I told you this.” He warned.

 

“So the story goes like this. There used to be this bad ass agent working for the League. He had this special talent of picking just the right kid and training them to take over him. His first two kids are a huge success, both of them are in Level 10. But by the third one, the agent fucked up really badly. He picked the wrong kid. That was him, the Monster. He was around… maybe ten, when he started working here and he was such a pro at his job that they instated him as an agent. He made it to level 10 when he wasn’t even sixteen. Do you know how rare that is?”

 

Wally felt both of his eyebrows went up at that. Level 10 was the highest level any agents could possibly hope to achieve and for someone to make it to that level when they weren’t even in their sixteen was… impressive. And unnerving. He wondered who the ‘bad ass’ agent was, Malcolm said he had two other kids… And they were both Level 10.

 

Both Malcolm and Wally moved closer to the cell as the guards inside began backing out, dragging something with them. “But even though he’s a super assassin, he always fucks things up.” Malcolm grimaced. “Killing the wrong people, sometimes killing everyone. I mean, honestly, I don’t give a shit if that’s what people assign him to do but it’s the other stuff that bothers me…”

 

The guards pulled out a short, lanky… _boy_ out of the box and dropped him unceremoniously on the floor.

 

Wally suspected he would never get comfortable at the sight of a child with ‘Monster’ for a nickname.

 

Slumping against the floor, the boy appeared to be in his late teens and heavily restrained. He wore a white straitjacket, his arms tied close to his chest. He was sleekly muscular and incredibly well-toned despite his slender build. The little bit of skin he exposed was olive-toned. His unattended jet black hair had grown long during his time in the Fourth and was hanging limply.

 

His name was _Damian Wayne_ , otherwise often called as the Monster by the staff of the League.

 

Despite his reputation and the fact that Wally almost expected Damian to burst out of the box snarling and growing like a rabid animal, the boy had a naked, almost vulnerable look on his face. He was also shuddering uncontrollably. His round almond-shaped eyes flitted around quickly and in his half-alerted state, he looked like a cornered animal looking for an escape.

 

Even then, Damian didn’t seem entirely lucid. His face twisted in a half-fear, half-angry expression, his eyebrows drew together as the guards hauled him without a care.

 

“What’s his problem?” Wally asked, curious. It annoyed him to see the Monster that had haunted his dream for six months straight looking so… fragile, more like a frightened little boy than the bloodthirsty monster he was rumored to be.

 

“Oh, don’t worry about it. He’s just doped up on drugs. Pretty fucked up if you ask me, but it keeps him in control. He’ll liven up once the drugs wear off.”

 

Wally studied the boy-monster for a moment longer before he turned back to Malcolm. “You said something else about him that bothers you, what’s it?” He inquired.

 

Malcolm stared at Wally for a little while longer. He let out a sigh. The other guard reached inside the pocket of his pants to toy with access card he had been given. “When he started taking assignments, and mind you, this is just based on what others talked to each other.” Malcolm snorted. “These people think we are dumb and deaf just because we aren’t field agents.”

 

Malcolm frowned. “Anyway, after he started taking assignments, they realized something was wrong with him. Like no shit, he’s a little kid running around killing motherfuckers left and right, if you think there wasn’t anything wrong with that, you got more problems in your head than a mental patient,” He shrugged.

 

“But it ran deeper than that. They noticed he was real strange, he would… I don’t know, flip out sometimes. He just went completely nuts and started turning on people. They ignored it at first, maybe ‘cause of the work that he did. I mean, with his assignments, why did it matter if he killed a few guards, right?” Malcolm’s voice turned sarcastic at that.

 

Wally hated it, too. The fact that they were guards didn’t make them any _less_ human. This wasn’t science fiction, they weren’t clones created for the sole purposes of being ordered around. They had _families_ , too.

 

“But there was this one time he…” Malcolm’s voice trailed off. “He flipped out, in public. I don’t know what happened but the Monster went completely nuts and got picked up by local cops.”

 

“Oh shit.” Wally breathed out. He was surprised the League still let Damian alive after that. The League existed in shadow, conducting its business as discreetly as possible and doing anything to maintain the cover of every single person working for it. As far as the public was concerned, even most of the Governments, the League didn’t exist.

 

Wally looked suitably amazed. “And they still used him after that? Wasn’t his cover blown?”

 

Malcolm chuckled dryly. “Oh yes, it was all over the news and everything. Surprised you don’t know that actually, the police tried to press a shit ton of charges against him, drug dealing, murders, even rapes, I think. Don’t really know how much of that was true, but people started calling him Monster after that. Anyway, at the county jail, do you know what the Monster fucking did? He decapitated the Chief of Police’s son.”

 

“Jesus.” And suddenly, the fact that he was kept in such a condition didn’t seem so extreme anymore. “Why his son?”

 

“He was one of the cops.” Malcolm explained. “And then the League took custody of him, there was a big manhunt afterward but then… they locked him up here for…” Malcolm paused.

 

He shrugged.

 

“I don’t know, actually, could be years. And then he was let out again. He killed his partner, and tortured his psychiatrist, and that was when he got the Box. I thought that was the end of it. Apparently, it wasn’t.” Malcolm jerked his head toward the figure on the floor. The Monster was twitching but didn’t attempt to get up.

 

“That’s insane.” Wally said. He knew that the League could do a lot of things to stop the threats they perceived as dangerous to humanity but to employ a mass-murderer? That was a little bit too much for Wally to take. “How can they trust someone like that?”

 

“I don’t know, man. But I’m telling you, I knew a guy that asked too many questions, too and let’s just say, he ain’t around no more.”

 

* * *

 

Before Wally could get a word in, he noticed a figure approaching them. Upon further inspection, he realized it was the General. General Clark Kent, one of the most powerful men in the League. His short black hair was combed neatly, shining under the fluorescent lights and Wally couldn’t help but notice how young the General looked up close.

 

He was tall and well built, and his expression was darkly serious at the moment. The effect of his intimidating build was somehow dampened by the pair of glasses on his face.

 

Wally nudged Malcolm quickly and they both stood up straight in attention, saluting the General when he approached. “Sir!”

 

General Kent waved a large hand lightly, focusing his attention on the figure on the floor. His eyes were stormy with unreadable emotions, the cerulean orbs focused intensely on Damian. “His status?” He asked and Wally was once again, flooded by how mild the sound was coming from such a large man like the General.

 

Malcolm hurriedly reported, fumbling with his words. “They just removed him from the Box, s-sir! The drugs are not out of his system yet.”

 

General Kent turned around to face Wally. His lips pressed together. “Have him moved to the medical unit and have the collar installed before he wakes up. I expect him to be ready in twelve hours.”

 

Without another word, General Kent turned on his heels and walked away from them to the direction where he came from. Wally couldn’t help the pride that swelled in his chest at the thought that the General trusted him with this task over his senior, Malcolm Duncan.

 

Outwardly though, Wally only asked. “What collar?”

 

Malcolm pursed his lips. “Who knows? Probably a new method to control him. Come on, let’s get this freak to the medical bay before he wakes up and rips our throats out.” He said.

 

Yeah okay, Wally could agree on that point.

 

He approached the gurney that the other guards had hauled the Monster up to, tying his limbs using thick leather straps to prevent mobility. Wally couldn’t help the slightest of shudder when he saw the Monster’s face up close. He was still too young. And already so dangerous and unstable. It gave Wally a slap on the face about how lucky he still had it.

 

“What do they have him on?” A guard asked. Wally focused on them instead of the little kid in front of him and ignored the ‘ _Wrong, wrong, wrong!_ ’ scream inside his head.

 

“Eh who knows.” Officer Jack Napier muttered, dragging his eyes up and down the kid’s body in a way that made Wally immensely uncomfortable. “Whatever they have him on, it sure turns him into a docile little _boy_ , huh?”

 

A leer.

 

Officer Napier’s eyes seemed to be ravishing the Monster’s body, dragging from the peach-colored, heart-shaped lips down to the little peek of skin at his neck and –

 

“You’d better keep that to yourself.” Wally interjected before he could stop himself. Mass-murderer or not, this was just a little kid. He couldn’t allow what was happening in front of him went unsaid. _No one_ deserved it. Not even the worst of them all.

 

“Hmm?” Officer Napier looked up, obviously shocked that someone even had the balls to talk back to him at all. Then, a creepy smile appeared on his face, stretching from side to side. Wally resisted the urge to take a step backward. “Oh? Feeling defensive over this Monster?” He asked, dragging his voice over the word ‘Monster’.

 

Officer Napier placed a hand flat on the kid’s chest, sprawling his fingers over the cloth, his thumb idly stroked. “Why should you care after what he’s done? He deserves everything I give him.”

 

Malcolm’s eyebrows went up at that and Wally felt his hackles rise. He refused to back down. “That kind of behavior doesn’t make you any better than him. No wonder he’s a fucking monster if he’s treated like that. I’m not going to report you or anything but for the record, I think sick fucks like you should be locked up, too.”

 

The Officer growled. “Fuck off, goody two shoes. You’re no fun.”

 

“Real creative.” Wally retorted firmly, rolling his eyes.

 

Ignoring the Officer, Wally wheeled the gurney. They were half way down the hall when Wally happened to look down at the Monster.

 

He felt his heart stop beating.

 

The Monster’s eyes were no longer vacant and while they still held that medicated look, they were alert. For the second time in his life, those eyes focused on Wally. For his part, Wally wasn’t sure if it was just the light or if he didn’t remember it correctly, but the boy’s eyes looked… _bluer_. Less green.

 

Maintaining eye contact with him, Wally froze. He tried to tell Malcolm that the Monster had woken up.

 

Then the Monster really _looked_ at him. The corners of his lips slowly curled up and there was a twinkle of something in those eyes.

 

Wally stared.

 

The Monster was… smiling? Smirking? At him… He was… He didn’t know, he couldn’t think. Couldn’t even breathe.

 

Malcolm shook his arm. “Hey, you okay? You kind of froze.”

 

Wally blinked and the spell was broken. “He… The Monster… I…” Wally stammered, gesturing toward the kid but his gaze had already turned vacant once again and he was staring at the ceiling like the previous moment hadn’t just happened at all.

 

“What about it?” Malcolm questioned. “C’mon, let’s finish this and get the hell out of here. I don’t want to be around these creepy fucks any longer.”

 

Yeah. Yeah, okay.

 

* * *

 

Inspector Janet Drake strode down the Fourth Floor Detainment Center, eyes scanning the halls indifferently despite the fact that there were numerous dangerous individuals on this particular floor. Her blond hair was pulled tightly into a French twist and the base of her neck and her light grey pencil suit skirt combined with professional looking dark blue blouse enhanced her pale complexity. The stiff way she held herself made her appear much older than her late thirties.

 

Janet glanced at the man to her right, lacking of any real interest. “One would expect the Monster to be prowling judging from the report I have of it. Are you sure it has been properly restrained, General Kent?” She asked, staring down at the figure that slumped against the wall behind glass door. There was a metal collar wrapped around his neck. He had been changed out of the straitjacket and was now in normal skin-tight jeans and gray hoodie. He looked... less crazy than he was before. Removing the straitjacket tended to do that.

 

“The men exaggerated. I assure you, Damian is just as human as you or I.” General Kent said calmly, looking like he wanted to say something regarding the title the Inspector called the little boy.

 

Inspector Drake let out a small _Hm_ and turned around to look at the two officers. “You two keep the control, correct?” She asked. An officer, West from his name tag, nodded hurriedly before he remembered he had a voice.

 

“Y-Yes, ma’am!” West said, handing the Inspector the remote control to the collar. While looking quite innocuous and even somewhat… fashionable, the collar was capable of producing high voltage current to render the Monster useless, keep the danger to a minimum level so to speak.

 

“Have you tested this on it, General Kent?” Inspector Drake asked calmly, studying the control. A small knob on a handheld device that could be turned to control the flow of electricity laid on her palm. It was simple and elegant.

 

“On… other subjects, not on him.” General Kent said finally. While the Inspector had no military training and was essentially a civilian staff, her job was to maintain the League’s appearance, keeping it from being recognized by the public. As much as he hated to admit it, her job held more power than his. In a manner of speaking.

 

“I don’t understand why the Marshall insisted on keeping such a high risk threat like it around.” The Inspector mused. Damian Wayne had potential, that much was obvious. So did his brothers, all two of them actually. “Is it an attempt to pacify its so called… ‘brothers’?” The Inspector asked, turning to face the General.

 

“Yes… and no.” General Kent said slowly. He took a deep breath. “Bruce was an Agent before your time… He was a good one, our best agent actually. He gave us Agent Richard Grayson and Agent Jason Todd, but then, he vanished after a mission. He always had… unorthodox methods to dealing with the assignments so we just… assumed that it was just another one of those times. It wasn’t until we came to check up on him that we realized that he had disappeared much longer than that and his son, Damian Wayne, had been taking over the assignments for his father for a while now. The kid was a genius at what he did and the Marshall –”

 

“Saw an opportunity to replace a dead agent with another tool.” Inspector Drake interjected smoothly.

 

General Kent nodded.

 

“Only, this time, Agent Bruce Wayne probably hadn’t completed whatever program he had put his child through and hence, instead of two competent agents like Grayson and Todd, we have… _this_.” The Inspector filled in the rest. “And the Marshall doesn’t want to replace his tool of assassination with another half-trained, half-competent one so we are stuck with the Monster until another suitable replacement is found.”

 

The Inspector reached out to tap her well-cared manicured nails against the glass. Damian didn’t react to the noise. He didn’t react to much at all.

 

“Why can’t Grayson or Todd fill in Wayne’s position?” Inspector Drake asked finally.

 

General Kent frowned. “Agent Richard, he’s specialized in espionage while Agent Jason is specialized in assassination of precise targets –”

 

Once again, he was interrupted mid-speech.

 

“Ah, so the Monster is your weapon of mass destruction.”

 

There wasn’t a need for a clarification.

 

“I see.” Inspector Drake said finally. “The restrains will hold, yes?” It was spoken more like a statement than a question because the Inspector had already made her way toward the door to Damian’s holding cell. She opened the door.

 

They locked eyes.

 

The Inspector rotated the little knob slowly, watching the expression on Damian’s face change. Surprisingly, he didn’t even let out a single noise. He just sat there, glaring at her and gritting his teeth, a defiant look on his face.

 

“His pain tolerance is unparalleled.” General Kent said finally.

 

The Inspector studied Damian with clinical eyes, continuing to turn up the power. Slowly but surely, Damian’s complexion grew paler and paler. There was a bead of sweat running from his forehead down his chin. His shudders grew with the voltage but still, he didn’t let out a noise.

 

When the control reached the highest setting, Damian collapsed on the floor, twitching and shuddering, clearly incapacitated. Throughout it all, he remained stoically silent.

 

“Have it recalibrated. It should have been incapacitated long before the remote reaches the highest setting.” Janet noted. “I want it tested on the Monster before the next mission.” She said finally.

 

“I will inform the techs. Like I said, his pain tolerance is unparalleled.” Clark said, taking the remote control and left the cell.

 

Janet stared down at Damian. “Are you capable of understanding English?” She asked coolly.

 

For a moment, it seemed like Damian wanted nothing more than to tear out Janet’s throat. Finally, he replied with a rough “Yes.” Damian pushed himself up slowly, gesturing toward the collar. “Though this little necklace you’ve gifted me with seems to be determined to put me out of shorts momentarily.” He replied.

 

Janet could detect fake cockiness when she saw it.

 

“Charming.” She commented dryly. “And a useful excuse, no doubt.” She walked toward him, stopping short just out of reach of the chains that held him in place so he couldn’t move to grab her. She kept her body language blank. “I hope you are intelligent enough to know that you are just a tool to the League, nothing more than that.”

 

“And all this time, I’ve thought I was the League’s love child. My bad.” Damian replied sarcastically. His cockiness fell away to reveal angry eyes shining bright with sharp hatred. He snarled. “I’m well aware of my situation, woman. What I don’t understand is why you are here to remind me of it.” He said.

 

“You will address me with no title or as Inspector, nothing else.” Janet said calmly, entirely unaffected by Damian’s anger. Though she was a woman of average build and height, she was facing down the Monster that had terrified many agents and guards like she was dealing with an unpleasant dog. She studied him some more before she decided to give him a scrap of information. “I maintain the secrecy of the League and as such, I find it necessary to invest a minimal amount of interest in you.”

 

She watched Damian closely. “I do not appreciate misunderstandings so I will make myself clear. I do not take kindly to dealing with fallout from preventable mistakes, particularly in high profile situations. Do not make the mistake of thinking I will not be watching you from inside or outside of the compound.” She stated. “All infractions will be dealt with swiftly and without sympathy.”

 

Janet paused to let Damian absorb the information. “If you have troubles understanding my rule, I suspect there will be problems between us in the future.”

 

There was a moment of tense silence.

 

Finally, Damian huffed. “Whatever, as long as you keep me out of the Box, I will do what you say, woman.” He let a humorless smile appear on his lips.

 

“Clearly not.” Janet said, looking properly disgusted at Damian’s blatant display of disobedience by calling her ‘woman’ despite being told not to. “Do not disappoint me, you would not appreciate the situation you found yourself in if you did.” She said.

 

Damian studied her with the intensity of a hawk. “Why specifically are you here for?” He asked. His gaze usually had the effect of making people unease. The average person would turn away from that look with a shudder. Yet Janet just watched evenly, her face was like a mask.

 

After a moment, Janet spoke up. “They have grossly exaggerated your intelligence if you honestly expected me to answer that question.”

 

Damian pursed his lips. He gave up on his attempt at intimidating her. “A real pleasure meeting you.” He said blandly.

 

Janet scrutinized him for a breath longer before she turned on her heels and walked out of the cell. Once the guards followed her out and locked the door once again, General Kent’s gaze was immediately on her. Janet ignored his look for a moment and turned to the guards. “Tell the nurses to apply the drugs you used to control him with. If he has the strength to banter, he has the strength to escape. Remember that.”

 

Janet felt the General’s gaze and let him stew a while more. “He will do.” She stated.

 

The General narrowed his eyes at Janet’s instructions but didn’t say anything against it. “What did you conclude?” He asked.

 

She strode further away from the guards and out of their hearing range before she stopped where she had a better view of Damian. Her ice blue eyes narrowed and the faint reflection of her expression in the window was as unreadable as ever.

 

She didn't speak until Clark was standing next to her again, staring into the cell as well.

 

"Despite his attitude, he gives the impression of reasonable intelligence," she said calmly. "I would not hesitate to have him terminated should he once again become a liability; however, he may prove useful. I have decided to go through with my recommendation for his newest trial partner."

 

Clark's eyebrows shot up in surprise. He'd previously thought that this visit had been solely for the purpose of Janet determining whether or not Damian would be a public risk if he were reinstated as an agent. "Oh?"

 

Janet's nod was curt and her gaze never left Damian. "I will notify the party tomorrow."

 

"Who do you have in mind?"

 

"My son."

 

Clark tried to hide his shock and stared at Damian intently. "What makes you think he would be a good candidate?" he asked with forced professionalism.

 

"He would be unaffected by such mannerisms," she responded calmly. "And he is intelligent enough to avoid playing games."

 

There was another beat of silence and this one was wrought with tension.

 

Clark turned away from the window, away from Damian. "We'll see how it turns out, then," he answered finally.

 

Yet as they began their walk back to the entrance to the Fourth, Clark could only marvel at the fact that Janet had basically just given her son a death sentence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next chapter:**
> 
> "What do you want?" The guard named 'Garrett' watched Tim suspiciously.
> 
> "I have an appointment with my mother," Tim said impassively.
> 
> "What's her name?" Garrett asked while Veliz continued to alertly watch the street behind Tim.
> 
> "Janet Drake."


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I just figured out that I didn't do it right. I gave you the first draft while I shouldn't have done that. So this second chapter, technically the first 'cause the other one is a prologue, I tried to proof-read it. I'm not entirely sure how successful my attempt was, but I hope that when you read this one, you will realize there're at least some forms of improvement in term of writing quality and grammar/spelling mistakes.
> 
> With that, welcome back to ItcoM, thank you for all your kudos, comments, bookmarks and subscriptions :D
> 
> P/S: Not even a full week is up! :) Next chapter might take longer though. But no matter what, I'll try not to be any later than a week. Hopefully, the official schedule will be once a week from now on :D

The buildings of Icarus’ chemical company loomed at the horizon.

 

It was a comforting sight, a familiarity that had accompanied him since his childhood. Shortly before he was born, the war started and by the time he was old enough to really understand what was happening, Gotham had become a desolated, crime-ridden city. To escape the bleak reality, the older generations had taken to telling the tales about Old Gotham, a city which was advanced, beautiful and peaceful, the Gotham of the past.

 

Looking around now, to the neighborhood where people built temporary shelters and the areas where people slept on the streets, haunted by the fear of muggers and other monsters lurking in the dark, Tim wondered how much were true about those stories.

 

His life went pretty much on the same note day in and day out. The same monotone, the same schedule of waking up, eating, going out to get supplies if needed, going to bed which repeated the next day and then again the day after that. It was an unchanging life. Tim had slipped into an automatic mood since a long time ago, a life without really living.

 

However, despite the repetitive motions, Tim liked his life the way it was. He liked slipping into a mode of doing things without thinking about it. It left his mind wonderfully blank.

 

Similar to the tales of Old Gotham, Tim knew the stories of a naïve boy once, a boy with a camera and ideals and real smiles. Nowadays, looking at himself in the mirror, Tim couldn’t see any traces of that boy left. He often wondered, like the old stories, how much of that boy was true or if it was just a beautiful dream Tim had to escape reality.

 

So life went on without interruption. Until yesterday.

 

* * *

 

Tim received a mail. It was wrapped around a formal looking envelope, pristine white with his name scrawled on top in an elegant handwriting. There was also the symbol of his mother’s company on the top of the letter. Dreading what that meant, Tim had opened the mail.

 

His mother wanted him to meet her at her company, Icarus.

 

Oh.

 

For a long time now, Tim suspected that his mother’s work ran much deeper than that of a simple manager. However, he never asked and she never told.

 

Tim preferred the world of blissful ignorance.

 

How he had changed.

 

After the war, big companies were the ones that bounced back the fastest compared to smaller scaled ones and Icarus was the combination of several big companies. The company provided the government with different chemicals. Rumors said it even dabbled in pharmaceuticals, a field that used to be different from Icarus’ first purpose.

 

It didn’t matter much to the people when they needed the medication and the company could provide it. The injured didn’t care where the source came from, as long as it cured them and lessened their pain.

 

So while there were people struggling to have enough to live by each day, eating cockroaches just to fill the emptiness of their stomachs, Icarus had the money to hire guards and install cameras. They had the money to build tall towers and luxurious looking glass panels.

 

Once upon a time, Tim used to care. He used to protest against it.

 

Now he just looked on.

 

Upon reaching the big metal gate, the guards stopped Tim from entering. Of course, they did. Tim studied the company symbol on their dark uniforms, a pair of white wings spreading wide. Icarus’ wings. The waxed wings that had melted upon flying too close to the sun. The sad fate of a young genius. From the name tags, the two guards were ‘Garrett’ and ‘Veliz’.

 

"What do you want?" The guard named 'Garrett' watched Tim suspiciously.

 

"I have an appointment with my mother," Tim said impassively.

 

"What's her name?" Garrett asked while Veliz continued to alertly watch the street behind Tim.

 

"Janet Drake."

 

The name made the guards stopped short and they studied Tim closely. The scrutiny made him uncomfortable even if he didn’t let it known. It felt like they were trying to compare him to the man in their imagination. Or perhaps they were comparing him to his mother. Either way, they would find him not good enough. His mother always told him so. To her, he was always too thin, or too sloppy, his hair was always not up to her liking, his giant hoodies made his skin too sickly, he should have worn a suit instead of worn out jeans…

 

There was always something lacking about him.

 

Eventually, Tim just stopped trying.

 

However, that was no excuse for showing weaknesses. His icy blue eyes gazed steadily ahead, locking eyes with ‘Garrett’ in an unspoken battle for dominance. Garrett dropped his eyes first.

 

“Identification paper.” The guard ordered, opening his palm.

 

Tim reached into the pocket of his hoodie and retrieved his ID card. He handed it over to Garrett.

 

Garrett pursed his lips and nudged Veliz before they both whispered to each other. Tim heard snippets of the conversation, something about him looking very much like her, especially the eyes. He supposed they were talking about the similarity between him and his mother. The conversation didn’t really matter so Tim made no move to stop their gossiping.

 

Garrett cleared his throat. “Well, everything seems to be in order.” He said. “I will have to give you a pat-down as per protocol. And then another guard will take you to meet your… mot- um… the Inspector.”

 

Inspector.

 

Tim didn’t voice his curiosity despite the natural urge to do so. He let the guard do their pat down without protesting though it did make his skin crawl when the man’s hands touched his body. Veliz called for another guard with his walkie talkie. A few minutes later, another man walked out from inside the compound.

 

“I’m here to escort Timothy Drake.” The man announced. His name tag read Johnson.

 

Garrett jerked his head toward Tim. “He’s clear.”

 

Johnson turned to face Tim. Once again, Tim found himself the center of attention. The new guard placed a name tag in Tim’s hand. Instead of a name, his said ‘Guest’. Tim put it on. The guard's large hand then fell on his shoulder as if he was trying to guide him. “Follow me.” He ordered.

 

Tim resisted the urge to pull away from the touch. He schooled his expression, easing the tension from his shoulders and walked.

 

* * *

 

As they crossed the large yard leading to the tallest tower in the compound, Tim learned that Icarus employed many people from various ages and ethnicities. Some wore guard clothes, other white coats while some just dressed in normal business suits. They looked at him curiously as he walked past, their eyes silently judged him.

 

Tim forced down a shudder, suddenly feeling suffocated by the attention he received. He walked faster.

 

Up close, the highest tower looked even more intimidating. It stood tall and proud, the symbol of wealth in a war-torn city. Tim felt the anger grow despite the walls he built around his emotions. This place had everything and more, while some people had to suffer every day just for a chance to eat.

 

There was a push on his shoulder. Tim guessed he had been standing there for too long. He walked forward, up the steps and to the great lobby. There was a woman waiting there. She looked up when they entered.

 

“Just here to deliver him to Inspector Drake,” Johnson said gruffly. “Hey,” He greeted the woman, his voice was almost soft. Embarrassed. His body language shifted subtly. His large body blocked the woman’s last name but Tim could still catch a glimpse of her first name. ‘Annabelle’ something. Tim tilted his head slightly, trying to gain a better insight to the change.

 

It was hardly noticeable, but there was a hint of pink on the guard’s cheeks that wasn’t there before.

 

Ah.

 

“I have a letter,” Tim announced evenly, ignoring the look Johnson shot him. While it was… endearing to watch, he had a schedule to keep. Unfortunately, it didn’t allow for tardiness. He took the formal letter and placed it on the table.

 

The receptionist accepted the letter and read through it, studying the stamp as well as the symbol printed across the page. “Everything seems to be in order.” She said finally. She tapped something on her keyboards. There was a chime. “I just informed the Inspector’s secretary of your presence. She will be expecting you.”

 

Johnson let out a gruff goodbye to the receptionist and nudged Tim forward again, much rougher this time. He didn’t appreciate his time being interrupted by a guest. Tim could understand that. He would be disgruntled, too if they switched place. He turned his head, studying the guard for a moment longer before he made his way to the elevator with Johnson following closely behind him.

 

The metal doors slid open and the pair along with another employee slipped inside. Tim studied the numbers. 17 floors. The other employee wanted to get on number 15. Tim and Johnson would be making their way to the 17th.

 

Even away from prying eyes, it seemed that Tim couldn’t avoid being looked at like a test subject. When the guard pressed number 17, the employee had shot them both a look before his eyes fell on the small tag on Tim’s chest.

 

‘Guest’.

 

He had grinned then.

 

Johnson shot the employee a look and whatever that look meant, it only seemed to make the other’s smile widen. There was a layer of hidden conversation that Tim wasn’t privy to.

 

It made him uncomfortable not knowing all the variances.

 

The rest of the ride was filled with silence and when the elevator finally stopped at the 15th floor, the employee had turned around one last time to study Tim, nodded to himself before leaving.

 

It was… strange to say the least.

 

It made his tension rise up another notch.

 

Johnson waited until the elevator reached the 17th floor but the metal door stayed close instead of opening up. “Step aside,” Johnson said, pushing Tim away from the control panel before he fiddled with something, his muscular body worked as a way to block Tim’s view.

 

There were small _beeps_.

 

Code. The guard was typing in a code. He pressed what Tim assumed was the ‘enter’ button and then swiped a card. The red light that Tim hadn’t noticed before turned green. The double door opened.

 

“Just walk straight ahead. The Inspector’s secretary is waiting for you.” Johnson said. It was apparent that he would not be joining Tim for the rest of the journey. A shame, Tim thought the man was beginning to warm up to him.

 

Tim nodded his thanks and walked as he was instructed. It wasn’t hard to find the secretary at her table. However, before he approached the woman with red hair, Tim took the time to study his surroundings.

 

The entire space seemed to be made of glass panels, giving people a high up view of Gotham around them, the air cool in a way that only AC could produce. Tim was stepping on a soft tasteful carpet.

 

Carpet.

 

While there were others starving for any scraps of food, no matter how small, they used carpet here.

 

Tim stamped down the surge of emotions.

 

He approached the woman. ‘Barbara Gordon’ was her name. Her eyes twinkled with mischief, and her shocking red hair draped freely on her shoulders. She was holding a pen with a small plastic bat as the cap and her eyes smiled at him when he approached her. She looked vastly different from the dull environment around her.

 

She looked out of place in such a bleak office.

 

“Sorry, the Inspector is a bit busy at the moment. You can wait here in the meantime.” She said.

 

Tim nodded.

 

He took a seat across from her.

 

There was a moment of silence between them. Uncomfortable for Tim, but not so much for the woman.

 

“Wanna play Tetris?” Barbara asked suddenly in an attempt to make Tim feel more at ease.

 

“Excuse me?”

 

“Tetris. You know, little colorful blocks falling from the sky. I have the game on my phone. You will be waiting for some time.” The secretary said with a shrug.

 

Tim stared.

 

He opened his mouth.

 

“It won’t bite.” Barbara reassured.

 

Tim bit his bottom lip lightly.

 

He took the phone.

 

So that was how he spent the next hour waiting for his mother, playing Tetris on the phone while the secretary worked on her files. It felt… nice. Tim hadn’t had contacts with humans for so long, at first it felt awkward but Barbara never mentioned it. She also didn’t stare at him.

 

Tim liked his mother’s secretary considerably more than anyone else he had met so far.

 

His time was cut short when there was a small sound alerting Barbara. She gave him an apologetic look. “Well, it seems the Inspector is free to see you now.” She said.

 

Tim gave Barbara her phone back and steeled himself. He couldn’t afford distracting feelings around his mother. He was empty. He didn’t have any emotions. He was an impenetrable wall.

 

Tim’s hands fell to his sides. He straightened his back, holding his head high. He still couldn’t quite achieve that cold, uncaring look his mother had but it would have to do for now. Without saying a word to Barbara, Tim walked to the door and knocked on the wooden surface thrice.

 

“Come in.” His mother’s voice was as cold as ever.

 

Tim took a deep breath and turned the doorknob. “Mother.” He greeted calmly.

 

Janet let out a small sound of acknowledgment before she gave him the once over. She frowned. “What possibly possessed you to go to my place of employment in that tacky outfit? When was the last time you even combed your hair?” She asked, pursing her lips in a way Tim knew just screamed disapproval.

 

Tim lowered his gaze. He had disappointed his mother once again. Unsurprisingly, the knowledge stung. “I apologize.” He said stiffly.

 

Janet just harrumphed and gestured for Tim to take a seat. “What is your opinion about Icarus?” She asked, lacing her fingers together. She didn’t seem to be in a hurry though, so Tim took his time coming up with the appropriate response to her question. She expected something from him, and even though it was hopeless to live up to her expectations, Tim would still try anyway.

 

“It is…” Tim paused. “…An intriguing place to be.” He said.

 

His mother did not look impressed. So Tim continued. “On the surface, especially the ground floor, the security seems to be as expected from a place of this caliber if a little bit more than usual. However, on the higher floor, I have noticed an increase in security. I suspect there is more to Icarus than what it appears to be. With that being said, I have not visited many chemical companies before, I cannot form a proper evaluation without knowing what the others are like.”

 

Janet nodded. “If you were to visit other branches of Icarus, you would find that they contain several laboratories, administrative buildings and little else.” She said calmly. So his explanation was not satisfying but it was not a complete failure, either.

 

Tim mused on the new bit of information he had been fed. “That doesn’t seem to fit with this particular complex.” He said finally. “There are a large number of buildings, many of which don't seem consistent with a typical laboratory design. Several of the people whom I observed on the way to your office didn't appear to be administrative staff or lab technicians and their terminology didn't reflect either job description…” Tim remembered the man that had grinned at him earlier.

 

“…I would also question the heavy security across the entirety of the compound rather than grouped around key points." He paused and then concluded, “The implication is that the valuable assets here are something other than chemicals.”

 

Janet let silence descend upon them. For a brief moment, Tim wondered if he had crossed a line without realizing. Finally, his mother narrowed her eyes. “…That would be a correct assessment.” She said finally.

 

“Icarus’ chemical company is a legitimate company with branches across the nation. However, in this case, this complex has nothing to do with chemicals. This particular compound is a cover for a government-sanctioned organization that is so highly classified that even the majority of the elite government entities are unaware of its existence. The CIA itself does not even have a file, although the Director is aware that it exists.”

 

Tim pressed his lips together. That was interesting information. However, it did not really concern him. He had gone his entire life not knowing the truth about Icarus or more specifically, this place. He didn’t understand why it was crucial that he knew the information now. Knowing what his mother did gave him a new insight about her absence in his life but still, it didn’t change anything.

 

“What would be the purpose of such an organization?” Tim found himself asking.

 

“If you cannot even venture a guess with such information then you have allowed yourself to lose your only redeeming quality.” His mother said coldly. “Have you become completely incompetent since your little drama? I was under the impression that you have taken precautions to stop it from interfering with your brain function.”

 

Tim bit down on the inside of his cheek. His eyes drifted from her face to his hands. The words hurt. If Tim was the boy he used to be, he would surely scream at her that his ‘little drama’ was not little at all. And that even now, it still haunted his every waking moment.

 

His mother’s comment triggered something inside him. Flashes of memories appeared in front of his eyes like a movie that he wasn’t a part of.

 

_A smile._

_A warm hug._

_A shy touch between pinky fingers._

_Country boy._

_Short spiky black hair._

_Clear afternoon sky with him and Tim sitting side by side on a slab of concrete, trading the pictures Tim had taken. A plane. A butterfly. A robin perching on a tree branch. The first sign of spring. A flower blooming._

 

Then the flashes changed.

 

_Red. So much red. Sticky. Liquid. Red everywhere._

_Screams._

_Pleads._

_“Stop. Please. Stop. Not him! Not him!”_

_“No!”_

_“Please stop. I will give you everything. Please just stop.”_

 

A sharp pain pulled Tim out of his memories and Tim realized that his nails had dug into his skin so tightly that his palms were bleeding from the crescent marks. He had also broken out in cold sweat. He looked up slowly. His mother gave him another disapproving look, obviously seeing through the mask he put on despite his very best effort.

 

She gave him a moment to steel himself. Somehow, that felt worse than if she just criticized him for his weakness. She _pitied_ him.

 

Tim swallowed. He forced himself to think critically through the haze of memories.

 

“The precautions of secrecy coupled with the excessive security would lead me to believe that this compound contains information of vital importance. If it were purely a matter of national security, one would expect the CIA and other entities to be involved.” He analyzed.

 

“I would assume that the need for the secrecy stems from the fact that what occurs on the compound or due to this organization can't technically exist according to the government… perhaps due to constitutional violations or actions that the public or policymakers would find unacceptable. That would also mean the secrecy and lack of documentation are necessary for the government's plausible deniability.”

 

His mother nodded curtly.

 

“Correct.” She said simply. “This organization does not have a name you will ever hear aside from the League. The employees on the compound are a combination of support staff, research agents, and field agents. It exists for the sole purpose of national security and supporting the government by ensuring the safety of the community at large.”

 

Tim considered the knowledge. National security?

 

Janet continued.

 

“There are always organizations that want to undermine the government even before the war. However, since after the war, this number only increases to an alarming figure. We are fighting a new war, a war that must be fought in complete secrecy on an international as well as domestic scale. Our method is… unorthodox, despite its efficiency. It does not always follow internationally-accepted sanctions such as the Geneva Convention. That is the precise reason why no one can know that the League exists, let alone be aware of what we do.”

 

There was a beat of silence before Tim asked, “If the existence of the League is so highly classified, why was I invited here?”

 

Her gaze was steady on him. "You will audition for an open position."

 

She didn't ask him if he wanted to do this, she didn't suggest it. She simply ordered him. This was unsurprising to him, as she had been that way for the majority of his life, but he did find what she said to be unexpected.

 

"A position?"

 

"An agent has recently been released from imprisonment and he requires supervision."

 

Tim’s eyebrows furrowed at that. It did not seem like something he was trained for.

 

“Imprisonment?” he echoed, gaze subtly sharpening on her as he tried to understand the situation.  

 

Janet looked annoyed. “If you would just let me finish before repeating everything, then we could move along to more important matters. I do not have all day listening to you echoing my every word.” She said. Tim wisely remained silent.

 

“This agent is a well-trained assassin. However, he has shown extreme levels of aggression in the past. He was deemed unfit for service and had been sedated and imprisoned for some time. Recently, he has been cleared for reinstatement. However, the League does not trust him. He must be watched and controlled at all time. The open position is for his partner, who will be supervising him as well as acting in a mediatory role, ensuring that he will not cause further issues for the League by engaging in unwanted activities.”

 

Tim took the time to digest the information instead of speaking again. His mother hadn’t provided much information but the big picture seemed to be… out of his usual parameters. He didn’t know how he would be of any help to this agent. Finally, Tim stated quietly.

 

“Based on the description, I have no qualifications for the position. I don’t know why I would be chosen for this.”

 

He risked a look at his mother.

 

There was something in her eyes, a touch of cold anger. Either his words had annoyed her or something else did. “You were nominated, not chosen.” She corrected. Who had nominated him? His mother? Tim was under the impression that she didn’t think that his existence worth that much.

 

“You and a number of other candidates will go through a rigorous process of testing to determine if you have the assets necessary for the position. Should you be hired, you will receive further information at that time.”

 

Tim had assumed, based on the position of authority she seemed to have, that she was the person in charge. “This decision isn't yours to make?”

 

“No.”

 

She was looking at him in distaste and he sat back slightly in his chair, not knowing what he had done to receive such an expression. It was possible it was a sore topic for her. He knew she was devoted to her job above all else and her aspirations had always been to move up within her profession. Having to admit that she was not the highest authority likely did not sit well with her. It was equally possible she thought he was an idiot who should have understood this all from the beginning based on what she said.

 

“I am here to ensure the League remains a secret," she continued after a moment. "I make certain that the League’s activities do not find their way into the public realm by way of the media. My jurisdiction primarily falls along those lines as well as anything to do with the public or external interactions. My position as the Inspector leaves me second-in-command to the Marshal and it is he who will make the ultimate decision.”

 

Tim watched her for a moment before he inclined his head in acknowledgment.

 

“Would I return to this compound for the tests?”

 

“The process begins tomorrow morning,” she said evenly. “There is no need for you to leave. You are to remain here overnight.”

 

Anxiety welled up inside him at the announcement. He didn’t like it. He hadn’t talked to anyone for such a long time nor had he left his house for anything unless it was absolutely necessary that he must do so. The idea that he had to remain here, in the close contact with people who looked at him and saw his mother was… unpleasant to say the least. “I'm not allowed to leave?”

 

“That is not a problem,” she replied curtly, speaking with the strong confidence that a person typically reserved only for their own lives, not presuming to speak for others. “You have no reason to leave the compound. I am well aware that you do nothing with your life anyway.”

 

Tim was silent. He couldn't argue with that assessment.

 

“Do you have any questions?” Janet asked after a moment.

 

No.

 

His mother pursed her lips, inspecting him closely. “You do not wish to even know the name of the agent?”

 

Tim’s shoulders rose in preparation for a shrug but then he remembered that his mother disapproved of such action. He settled to tap his nails against the table instead. “The information is irrelevant unless I'm hired.” He said finally. It was the truth.

 

There was the briefest flash of what may have been satisfaction in her eyes.

 

However, the emotion was there and then gone in the blink of an eye and Tim wasn't certain he'd seen it at all. There were so few times in his life that he could recall his mother showing anything resembling positive responses to him that he was inclined to believe it had been a trick of his imagination and nothing more than that.

 

“Very well,” Janet said briskly, already flicking her gaze away as her mind moved on to other matters. “Guards will be in the waiting room shortly to bring you to your next destination. You will stay there until you are contacted in the morning. I trust you will have no qualms with doing nothing for the remainder of the day.”

 

The way she said it had made it clear she felt he did nothing with his day regardless so it would not be news to Tim anyway. He could tell it was a rhetorical comment so he didn't respond. He wouldn’t know what to respond anyway. It was the harsh but true fact. A short breath of silence passed before she said coolly, "Dismissed."

 

Tim quietly stood and left her office, automatically taking care to silently close the heavy door behind him. He didn't glance at Barbara or look around before he headed to one of the sleek-lined and not entirely comfortable chairs along the glass windows. He sat there and waited, not looking at anything in particular.

 

It didn't even occur to him to take the time to consider whether he would do this or not or whether he should have thought more about his mother’s offer. He had no reason to refuse. Being on this compound or at his house was the same thing to him. Whether he joined a covert government agency or whether he had continued his life having never known of its existence was equally unimportant.

 

He had nothing and no one to exist for; he'd given up his desire to live years ago and with it had gone all sense of hope or belief in a future that was anything but numb and pointless. Whether he lived or died, whether he was here or there, whether he was healthy or hurt… it meant nothing to him.

 

Perhaps, even being here was a small mercy compared to being in the place he used to call ‘home’.

 

The memories had become like vivid ghosts around every corner of his house.

 

Perhaps the most terrible torment of all was his bedroom. It was empty and cold now, but it hadn’t been like that once. Like every fairy tale, once upon a time, it used to hold the breaths of two bodies that had cared about each other more than anything else, and it was the place that held the most memories, the first shy touches, the yearning need for more, and then later on, more experienced ones, laughter, gasps, whispers across bare skin, stories, images…

 

For a long time now, when he laid in his bed, if he didn’t experience terrible flashbacks then he was captured by haunting memories. They intertwined with each other. Terrible reality stained the sweetness of an old life that seemed to be so far away now.

 

_The feel of warm, bare skin against his and of spiky black hair sifting through his fingers._

_Blue eyes hovering over his and a smile playing on lips that moved down to press against his own. Touches that had made him feel alive in a way he hadn't felt since._

 

‘ _…love you so much…_ ’

 

_Dried blood coating his fingers as his knees grew numb from kneeling next to a cooling body._

_Hoarse cries for help that went unheard._

_Hopeless screams that echoed in the wind, as empty as its owner._

 

If ‘Hell’ was defined as a place or state that caused torment and misery, then Tim had been there for a long time now. If he was in Hell this whole time, what more there was to fear?

 

There was a saying that went like this: ‘ _Death is not the greatest loss in life. The greatest loss is what dies inside us while we live._ ’

 

Suddenly, Tim felt very much like laughing and dying a little bit at the same time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next chapter:**
> 
> The young assassin dropped his weight back in the comforting chair, crossing his arms defensively. “You know what _I_ think? I think you are afraid of Grayson and Todd’s reactions to the fact that they locked me up in the Fourth. Again. Those two didn’t know the League put me in the Box this time, did they? They would go ballistic if they knew how you treated me. You didn’t want to lose two of your best agents, so what did you do? You found a way to get me out, control me so that you can control them. One collared dog in exchange for three level 10 agents: me, Grayson and Todd. Sneaky plan, I must admit.”


	3. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter inspired by [Bad Habits - TimmyJaybird](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4073644/chapters/9953780)
> 
> As per promised, a chapter per week. So far, I'm happy I still manage to keep the posting schedule :D Yay! If there are any changes in my schedule (Final is in 3 weeks) I'll make sure to tell you beforehand as soon as I know.
> 
> Thank you so much for all your comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions. They seriously super-charge me and make me write faster :D I really **do** appreciate every single one of you for sticking with me. I know I probably sound like a broken record but I love it so much when people read the story.
> 
> P/S: Dami taking up bad habits from his big bros gives me life. No contest. None.
> 
> #teamSaltyDamian

Damian knew the general population expected him to act psychotic.

 

It was quite evident by the looks they kept shooting him as he walked past them when Officer West escorted him to the upper floor. The looks made him feel extremely annoyed, but at least it kept people from approaching him. If they did, Damian didn’t know what he would do to them, he would probably rip their heads clean off.

 

...Well, he supposed that there were merits in people’s words about him being a psychopath.

 

Eyeing Officer West, the one tasked with accompanying him to meet Kent, he wondered if he should tell the guy that he was just the sacrificial lamb for the slaughtering… but then again, the guy had looked absurdly proud at being chosen for the task, Damian didn’t want to kill his mood by saying that the only reason people picked him was because of his rookie status and the fact that he was expendable. 

 

The idiotic Officer also made the stupid mistake of using the elevator to escort him up instead of the stairs. This mistake had made people gawk at Damian as he stood among them, shorter than most of them but no less intimidating. As they rode to floor 16, the elevator had emptied suspiciously quickly. He didn’t know if the staff had reached their designated floor or if they were just running away from him. He had the feeling it was the later one, but for whatever reason, after just two floors, the elevator was empty except for Officer West, Damian, and two low field agents.

 

Damian studied the two agents. He knew their names: Agent Rachel Roth and Agent Garfield Logan. Ever since his stay at the League, Damian had made it his mission to remember as many faces, names, and information he could about the staff working here. Know thy enemies. And for Damian, except for two specific people, he considered the rest of them a potential threat that he would need to eliminate in the future.

 

The two agents were dressed in dark clothes and combat boots. It seemed they had watched too many movies about spies, they seemed to be under the impression that everyone here needed to dress up in black suits. The only thing missing was the twin pairs of shades.

 

They looked at Damian and Damian stared back at them blankly, unimpressed. Agent Logan seemed to be glaring at Damian with clear contempt while his partner had a better time hiding her wariness around him. “I can’t believe they reinstate you, you… you freak.” Agent Logan spat.

 

Next to him, Officer West tensed up.

 

“How’s life in Complex A, Agent Logan?” Damian chose to ask instead of rising to the bait. “I heard they just upgraded the AC system. Oh, I forgot, I don’t get to know it anyway because I was locked up inside the Fourth while you were living the life of my dreams.” He sneered.

 

As expected, Agent Logan looked down at his chest to check his non-existed name tag, looking frantic. An Agent’s name was not necessarily a secret inside the League, but the information wasn’t public, either so for someone to just say his name so casually must have scared him.

 

Imbecile.

 

Agent Roth seemed to have it together much better than Agent Logan and she grabbed onto his hand, pushing the button to get off on the next floor before dragging her friend out. Damian tossed them a smug smirk. “Good day, Agents.”

 

As the elevator slammed shut again, this time, only West and Damian were left. The assassin absently raised his hand to wrap his fingers around the metal band, tracing the design with dull fingernails. It had been a few weeks since he had the collar but Damian still couldn’t get used to it. It felt unnatural cold and it always scratched his skin at all the wrong way when he moved his neck. Worse, it made him feel like he was a naughty dog.

 

Hell, he was probably a naughty dog to the League.

 

Officer West shifted from the corner of his eyes and the young guard spoke up after a moment of hesitance. “Don’t touch the collar, Mon –” A snarl. “…Um… you.” He hastily corrected his word at the look on Damian’s face. “If you tamper with it, it’ll give you a nasty shock.”

 

Toxic green eyes glared at the Officer with barely concealed hatred. He wondered if he could reach out, grab the remote control before the Officer could activate the collar. From the last test with the so-called Inspector, Damian knew he could hold out around a minute. However, since then, the voltage must have changed.

 

Deciding that it was too early for this shit, Damian decided to speak instead. “The League’s way of calling me a bad dog, isn’t it?” He asked with a snarl. “I remember you. You were there six months ago when they locked me up in that Box. You were there when they got me out.” He stepped toward West, almost crowding his personal space. “How did it feel to touch young meat, you sick fuck?”

 

At first, West looked confused. But then realization dawned on his face.

 

Damian felt a flicker of satisfaction when West flinched back from the verbal attack.

 

Then his hackles rose.

 

“I didn’t touch you! Officer Napier did! I protected you!” West said, clenching his fists. “Don’t you dare imply I would do something like that again. I wouldn’t! I _wouldn’t!_ ”

 

Damian paused. That was an interesting reaction.

 

“Why would it matter what Napier did to me? I’m the Monster, remember?” He asked curiously. He didn’t remember being shown kindness to by anyone except for Todd and Grayson. It intrigued him. He didn’t get why his well-being mattered so much to West.

 

“Because it’s wrong. I can’t stand aside and watch. I –” West gritted his teeth and turned around so he didn’t have to face him. Before Damian could push for an answer, the bell chimed and the evelator door opened.

 

“Tt,” Damian muttered, stepping out first. He would push for more at a later time. Now, he had a General to face.

 

Officer West led Damian down a familiar hallway to the General’s office where the man’s secretary was waiting. Once again, everyone stopped what they were doing to ogle Damian. The young assassin scoffed, choosing to remain silent instead of antagonizing anyone this time. He stared at the door in impatience, waiting for West to open the damn thing.

 

When the door opened, Damian pushed West aside and stepped in gratefully, glad to escape everyone’s watchful gaze even if he had to deal with the tedious conversation with Kent.

 

“You can go, Officer West,” Clark said to the guard although his cerulean eyes were focusing on Damian and didn’t move. His handsome face was still as youthful as ever, his form was still as fit and muscular as Damian remembered it. It wasn’t too surprising that the General didn’t change too much physically in the last six month of Damian’s imprisonment. In the seven years, since Damian knew the General, the man aged very little physically.

 

“But, Sir – ”

 

Endearing. Officer West thought he could protect the General if Damian decided to kill him.

 

Clark looked away finally and focused his gaze on the young Officer. “I said, you can go.” He said flatly in a tone that allowed no argument.

 

West nodded uncertainly and held out a hand, studiously ignoring Damian’s gaze. “The remote, Sir?”

 

Clark’s expression quickly turned into one of impatience. “I don’t need it. Take it and go.”

 

Damian couldn’t help the smirk. “Pretty confident, aren’t you?” He asked.

 

Clark didn’t answer, not rising to the bait. “Goodbye, Officer West.” He said pointedly.

 

The guard shot the General another concerned look, obviously worried about the wellbeing of his third-in-command in the presence of what presumably a raving psychopath, but obediently left the office and shut the door quietly behind him.

 

Damian sat on the armchair across from the General and shifted, making himself at home. He leaned his head back on the cushion and crossed his left leg over his right one, toying with the red laces on one of his green boots. His eyes drifted shut.

 

“Have I bored you already?” Clark’s voice rose and Damian cracked open an eye, watching as the General shook his head, the corners of his lips tilted up slightly in amusement as he watched Damian.

 

“Hmm.” Damian gave the General a cold smile. “Not yet. But after sleeping on the cold hard ground for six months, I may just doze off on your luxurious chair. Or maybe it’s the horse tranquilizers you pumped me full off in those six months that are still slowing me down?” He asked sarcastically.

 

The amusement faded from the General’s face and his expression hardened considerably as he stared at the computer screen. “Holding a grudge, Damian?” He asked.

 

“Fuck you, Kent,” Damian said tonelessly, closing his eyes again. He ignored the heavy sigh and then the soft squeak of the chair as Clark shifted in his seat.

 

“Are you hungry?”

 

“No. After six months on liquid diet, I’m watching my figure.” Damian snapped.

 

The sigh that came from Clark this time was one of exasperation. “How many of those ‘after six months’ do you still have left in you? You weren’t this… annoyed after spending a year in the Fourth on your previous incarceration.”

 

“Annoyed. Yeah, _sure_. If that is the word you want to use.” Damian couldn’t help the bitterness that crept in his voice. He glared at Clark to show him fully how displeased Damian was by the whole situation. “How about I enlighten you then? Let’s see, perhaps I am ‘annoyed’ because of the mistreatment I received while I was in that Box, or maybe, I am ‘miffed’ by the fact that I was in that Box at all, or maybe, oh, _I know!_ ” He said in an overly cheery voice.

 

Damian’s expression shifted into one of pure fury and he slammed both hands on the table with a loud _BANG_ , standing up to his full height. “Or maybe I’m _furious_ because of this gorgeous piece of jewelry you so generously gifted me with! A dog collar, Kent? _Really?_ I heard the medics gossip with each other, you know. Apparently, this was all _your_ idea.” He snarled.

 

Clark looked up calmly at Damian, unfazed by the sudden burst of anger. He didn’t look scared, he just looked guilty. “It was the only way I could think of to convince Marshall Luthor and the Inspector to let you out of that cell.” He said, sighing heavily. “An opportunity arose, a way to get you off the Fourth and they didn’t want to, they didn’t even consider the idea. They wanted to keep you locked up. The only way I could get around it is to suggest a method to control you, for insurance.”

 

“To control me.” Damian echoed the words dully. “Interesting choice of words.”

 

The young assassin dropped his weight back on the comforting chair, crossing his arms defensively. “You know what _I_ think? I think you are afraid of Grayson and Todd’s reactions to the fact that they locked me up in the Fourth. Again. Those two didn’t know the League put me in the Box this time, did they? They would go ballistic if they knew how you treated me. You didn’t want to lose two of your best agents, so what did you do? You found a way to get me out, control me so that you can control them. One collared dog in exchange for three level 10 agents: me, Grayson and Todd. Sneaky plan, I must admit.”

 

It seemed that he pushed the right button because the General’s face darkened. “It has never been about them. I care about them. And I care about you just as much. I don’t want to keep you there. How can you say something like that? You think I want to put that collar on you? But what else can I do?” He asked, losing his composure for the first time since the meeting started.

 

“After what you did to your last four partners, they paint you as a psychotic murderer and you play the part while I try to be the Devil’s advocate every time you get into trouble.” Clark gripped, looking like he was trying not to strangle Damian. The younger male found it amusing that the General was acting more like a psychotic murderer than he was.

 

Damian shrugged. “Not my fault that you designated complete imbeciles to act as my babysitters.” He said nonchalantly. His toxic green eyes flicked to a potted plant at the corner of the office as a cold smile appeared on his lips. “Perhaps next time, it would be a better idea if you picked the ‘partners’ that didn’t think they were the handler and I was their unruly pet.” He said calmly.

 

Clark sighed again. “After discussing the matter at great length, the Marshall, the Inspector and I have come to the agreement that the previous choices hadn’t been… compatible.” He said. Damian stamped down the urge to huff. That admittance would have been useful before people starting painting him as a mentally unstable killer. Damian’s reputation had been tarnished for years and he had been despised even longer. He honestly couldn’t care any less now.

 

He stayed silent.

 

Clark eyed him. Damian knew _that look_. He knew the comment that was about to follow up next.

 

“Would you like coffee? Something to eat?”

 

And there it was. _That again._ When Kent felt out of control at the current situation, he tried to gain it back by smothering Damian with mundane things. The young man scoffed. “Will you shut up about eating?” He asked darkly.

 

“You’re skin and bones.” Clark pointed out unhelpfully. Yes, Damian could see that.

 

He rolled his eyes. “No shit, a gold star for your detective skills, General Kent. ‘Skin and bones’ generally happens after six months of inactivity.”

 

“You need to gain more weights and to start rebuilding muscle. We have a specific timetable we’re working on right now.” Clark said seriously. Great, Kent was being serious about the not eating comment. It wasn’t just a comment to regain his control. He _cared_ about Damian.

 

With a great amount of will, Damian managed to stamp down a shudder and a sarcastic comment that just threatened to come loose.

 

“Fine. Get me cereal, milk, and a chocolate milk. _Cold._ ” Damian decided.

 

Clark stared at him.

 

Damian shrugged.

 

Shaking his head but not appearing to be overly surprised, Clark pressed the intercom on his desk. “Kate, can you bring in a coffee, cereal, milk and a… chocolate milk?... A _cold_ chocolate milk?” It was hard for Damian to control his laugh when there was an uncertain pause in the General’s request.

 

It got even funnier when there was a responding moment of silence before a very hesitant female voice answered. “Right away, sir.”

 

It appeared that he had inherited both Grayson and Todd’s horrible sense of humor.

 

Clark studied Damian’s face while they waited, the younger man was doing his very best to ignore the look. The amusement was back on the General’s face. He shook his head. “You need to develop better eating habits, Damian. You’re about thirty to forty pounds underweight. That sweet tooth isn’t going to help you in any way. I don’t even know where you got that from. Certainly not your father.”

 

Damian went very still in his chair and his eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”

 

Clark frowned slightly. “I’m just saying –”

 

“ _Don’t._ ” Damian repeated the word, his voice dropped low in warning. “Leave it, General.” He said.

 

The sudden tension in the room was palpable and it was only broken by the appearance of the General’s secretary, Kate, with a tray containing a box of cereal, a box, spoon, milk, a mug of coffee and a large Styrofoam cup presumably containing the chocolate milk. The woman seemed mildly alarmed by Damian’s glare and Clark’s tense shoulders but she didn’t comment on it, instead, she offered Damian a flex straw before she left the room.

 

Damian looked down at the neon pink straw in bemusement. He shook the box of cereal and poured some in his bowl, and then added in milk. It was animal-shaped cereal. Dropping the spoon into the bowl, Damian scooped up the treat and stuffed it in his mouth. The tense moment was broken.

 

“So…” Clark said with purely disguised relief, taking the mug of coffee from the tray. “The opportunity I spoke of, any clues what it is?” He asked curiously.

 

“Mm.” Damian murmured with the spoon still stuck in his mouth, groaning softly at the sugary flavor that he had missed so much while he was locked away. He took his sweet time to answer Clark, pulling the spoon free with a small _pop_. “Either you’re in desperate need for my wonderful assassination abilities or your super elite unit is still short a high-ranking field agent due to your relative lack of high ranking field agents?”

 

“Precisely. My options are limited to you, Senior Agent Grayson and Senior Agent Todd.”

 

“So go with Grayson. I’m sure he’d pee his pants like the overeager puppy that he is at the opportunity to be on your _extra_ special team.”  Damian grunted. He paused to reconsider his words and then grimaced to himself. Todd’s appalling vocabulary was quite plausibly contagious.

 

“Har har, funny.” The General said, looking wholeheartedly unamused by Damian’s suggestion. He laced his fingers together. “As I was saying, my options are limited to you, Richard and Jason. And since you three are my only three level 10s and both of them have been sent away on an extended undercover op so my choices are down to…” Clark at least had the decency to blush. “… Well, _you_.”

 

“It’s so heart-warming to be needed.” Damian’s voice oozed with sarcasm.

 

“Don’t worry; both of them will be recruited into the unit as soon as their missions are over. You won’t be alone.” The General reassured as if that would make Damian feel any better. It did, but that wasn’t the _point_.

 

Damian mused over the words while he ate another spoonful of cereal. There was something about the way Clark said that sent warnings bells off inside his head. Agitated, the young assassin scoffed, chewing the cereal as obnoxiously as he could to occupy the time. His expression turned cold as realization hit him.

 

“I see.”  He finally spoke.

 

“See what?” Clark asked, feigning ignorant.

 

“See what this is all about.” Damian replied. “Luthor knows that we have a close bond and that any two of us can convince the other person to switch sides. This is what the collar is about, isn’t it? Under the pretenses that I’m an unstable monster that needs to be controlled, it’s a precaution to make sure Todd and I won’t find a way to convince Grayson to abandon the ‘cause’. The Court’s activity warrants the interference of all three of us but the League cannot risk the chance of losing all three of its precious agents upon our close proximity.” The assassin sneered. “Despicable and a new low even for the likes of Luthor.”

 

“The Court’s activity has been rearing up again and they’re getting stronger with each passing day,” The General said instead, trying to impress Damian on the importance of the mission while not denying nor confirming Damian's theory. That fact alone was enough to let the assassin know he had hit the target dead on. It wasn’t the first time the General had made the effort to appeal to Damian's 'righteous side' ; that had occurred six months ago when Luthor had arranged the unit whose sole purpose existed to get information on and stop the ever-expanding rebel organization.

 

“We need to act now before they induct every single ragtag rebel group into their fold. They've swallowed insurgent groups here and overseas and their influence is spreading.”

 

“Sounds dire,” Damian said blandly, examining his nails. Finding his index finger’s nail irritating, the young assassin began to mess with it, trying to get rid of the rough edge. He rubbed the nail on the material of his shirt before examining it again.

 

“Can you take this seriously?” Clark glared at him.

 

“No.”

 

“Damian, this is your job. Your job –”

 

“ _Fuck_ my job.” Damian glared back. He rearranged his facial muscles into a wide grin with all teeth. “If you think I’m still here because of my loyalty to the cause, you’re more delusional than I thought. I’m here because it’s too much trouble to bother trying to escape Luthor’s tentacles.”

 

A long suffering sigh answered him. "In any case, the conditions of your release are to retrain, to become a full-fledged member of the Court unit as well as taking on your previous duties. And once again we will be inducting a second field agent to the unit, a level 9 who will be –”

 

“No.”

 

“ – trained specifically to be your partner.” Clark finished his sentence as if he hadn’t been interrupted.

 

“I said _no_.” Damian was already standing up, his back was stiff with anger at the mere suggestion of going through with that again. “I’d rather go back to the Fourth.”

 

Clark’s patience seemed to finally have reached the end of its rope. “But you won’t go just go back to the fucking Fourth this time, Damian!” Shocked by the uncharacteristic cursing, Damian remained silent. “You’ll go back to the Box and this time, this time it’ll be permanent. You won’t be getting out. They’re not using it as a temporary punishment anymore, Agent Wayne. That’s your fate if it doesn’t work out. Now tell me, which one do you want to choose?”

 

Damian gritted his teeth, feeling the dull pain of nails digging into flesh as he clenched his fists. He stared at the city through the enormous glass window, at the destroyed suburbs that lay beyond the city limits. He studied the crumbling buildings, evidence of the war. Finally, Damian turned around to face the General. “I won’t play somebody’s power game. I won’t let some idiotic thick-necked field agent treat me like an animal. I don’t care what you do to me.”

 

“And I’m telling you that it won’t be that way this time!” Clark said, slamming his fist on the table, causing the coffee to slosh out of the side of his mug and spilled on the table. “We’re going through a very extensive process to select a suitable match for you, Damian. Psych profiles, background, personality assessment… and this time, your input will be included. It won’t be like how it was before.”

 

Damian frowned and looked down at his chocolate milk, studying it moodily. His shoulders slumped down just the slightest bit before he forced himself to straighten back up. “Why bother?” He asked finally, weighing the pros and cons. “You know I’m damaged goods. You know what happens with me, what always happens with me. I’ll always end up back on the Fourth.”

 

“Well, I’m not prepared to give you up just yet,” Clark said impatiently, wiping at his desk with obvious aggravation. “You’re the best we have and even if they hate you, everyone knows that. Now shut the hell up, drink your chocolate milk and stop being a pain in my ass, Damian. For God’s sake.”

 

Damian’s gaze slid back to the window as he observed the scenery, watching the smoke-colored clouds drift across the oppressively bleak sky. “I’ll agree to it. For now.” He allowed.

 

Clark opened his mouth to express his relief but the dark look Damian speared him with a moment later stopped him cold.

 

“But if you pick the wrong person,” Damian said quietly. “It’s their fucking funeral.”

 

The General dropped his gaze and focused on the desk once again. His expression had become still as he replied. “Believe me, _I know_.”

 

* * *

 

“This is unproductive. I don’t know why I agreed to this.” Damian had never whined before but he had a feeling he was coming dangerously close to doing that now.

 

Damian’s battered green boots left dark smudges on the wall of the small, darkened conference room but he didn’t shift his position. He remained reclined in the black office chair with his feet propped against the drywall.

 

The young assassin absently ran his fingers through his newly cut hair; the annoyingly long strands had been shortened a few days ago and had retained their previous spikiness before the six months detainment in the Box. His face was a picture of boredom, his eyes half close and long black lashes practically resting against his cheeks as he stared through the two-way mirror blankly.

 

“Unless you are absolutely moronic, it should be clear the last two candidates are a complete and utter disaster. Who exactly narrowed down that list of yours?” Damian asked, trying to stay awake through the interview although this was the… fifth time?... it was probably the fifth time he had heard the same questions being repeated to a different candidate.

 

“Luthor did.” Clark replied gruffly as he sat down, pressing a button to bring up a holographic image of the information. “He insisted on throwing in as many level 9 candidates as possible to save money and time spent putting a lower level field op through the intensive level 9 training.”

 

Damian snorted. “Since he likely doubts they’ll last through the initial trial missions, I can’t say I blame him.” He said, looking vaguely amused.

 

Clark typed something into the touchscreen keyboard and Agent Klarion Bleak and Agent Pamela Isley were marked as unacceptable. The former was a black hair level 9 agent from Counter-Terrorism division who seemed to have all the characteristics that had gotten Damian’s previous partners killed. Agent Isley was a level 9 valentine operative in Intelligence who thought she could use her feminine wiles to ‘tame’ Damian.

 

Damian snorted again at that thought. Ridiculous. If he could have been ‘tamed’ by a woman, would he have been locked up in the Box?

 

“So…” Clark looked through the short list, grimacing as he continued. “We are left with two level 7 agents, and one civilian prospect with no training whatsoever who would be starting off as a level 1 trainee.” Another grimace. “Luthor won’t be pleased.”

 

“How unfortunate.” Damian drawled as he glanced at the list of the three people left. One of which was Agent Rachel Roth. He instantly recalled the incident in the elevator and wondered at the odd coincidence. “Have them do Roth next.” He said finally.

 

Harvey Bullock, a heavy-built and towering interviewer from Human Resources who looked more like an insurgent than a civilian staff member, disappeared from the windowless room on the other side of the mirror and reappeared a moment later with Rachel.

 

Now that Damian was looking directly at Rachel’s face, he realized the woman was actually attractive in a pale, vampiric kind of way. Rachel’s thick black hair hung down to the nape of her neck and contrasted starkly with her wax-like complexion. Her intense purple eyes did the same thing. There was a red jewel in the middle of her forehead that decorated the otherwise flawless skin.

 

She was a striking individual and Damian wasn’t surprised when he looked at the file again and found that Rachel was also marked as an undesignated valentine operative. The most attractive field agents usually were. Seduction was one of the oldest and most lucrative ways of getting information and turning a suspect into an informant.

 

“She’s prideful.” Damian commented as he leaned forward, studying the female’s body language and expressions as Harvey began the interview.

 

Clark nodded in agreement before giving Damian a wry look. “Let me guess, you’re thinking how much fun it would be to knock her down a peg or two.”

 

Damian looked at Clark, fluttering his eyelashes innocently. “I said no such thing.” He countered.

 

“Right.”

 

Most of the interview process was boring since it was still the same questions that were repeated for the… sixth? Time in the past three hours. Harvey explained the position. Tactician in an elite and very confidential unit in the Insurgency division, and then proceeded to grill the candidates on everything they knew about Damian and his past.

 

Damian examined Rachel's eyes and analyzed every flicker of emotion, every nearly concealed flash of doubt. Yet in the end, he couldn't find a reason to entirely loathe the woman except for the fact that she was prideful and predisposed to negativity regarding Damian just like everyone else on the compound. In Rachel's case, she was especially likely to because of the company she kept, Logan being one of them.

 

However, when Harvey began to talk about infamous city center massacre a few years ago, Damian's opinion of Rachel lifted a bit.

 

“After the incident with the scavengers and police,” Harvey began, brown eyes trained on Rachel although his face was entirely expressionless, “news stories circulated about Agent Wayne being behind many of the rapes and murders that had plagued the city during that time. The League stamped out the publicity effectively enough, as we know Inspector Drake is quite efficient at quieting such things. However, the stories leaked anyway and people remember, specifically the League’s staff.”

 

Harvey stopped speaking and stared at Rachel with a small empty smile, not asking a question but clearly waiting for a reaction of some kind.

 

Rachel's eyes flicked to the mirror, likely knowing she was being watched, and for a moment her eyes met with Damian's even though the lower ranked agent couldn't see him. “Well,” Rachel began, her low voice thoughtful and considering. “As far as I remember, there were also reports during that time of widespread corruption in the police department as well as an embarrassing amount of ineptitude to solve certain crimes due to staff shortage after the economic collapse.”

 

Harvey raised a thick eyebrow and waited so Rachel continued, folding her hands in front of her and looking more confident as she continued. “So despite the fact that the incident in the city center was unfortunate, I think it's more likely that the chief of police used Agent Wayne as a scapegoat for every unsolved crime in his jurisdiction… especially considering the shocking nature of the incident and the public's horror and desire to accept an answer as long as there was one.”

 

Damian looked over at Clark. “She's possible.”

 

The General looked surprised. “I agree but I'm surprised to hear you say it.”

 

Damian shrugged and sat up straight, scooting the chair forward and looking through the mirror seriously. “At least she's not a total prejudiced idiot.”

 

The next interviewee wasn't as successful. Agent Allen Carson didn't appear overly hostile but he also was quite obviously feeding Harvey rehearsed lines and trying to say what he thought the interviewer wanted to hear. It was obvious that he wanted the job likely for the accolades that came with it. Yet Damian could read naked fear in Allen's eyes when the subject of Damian's past crimes came up. In the end, Clark marked the man off the short list.

 

Clark frowned as Carson disappeared from the room and Clark ran a hand through his short black hair, grimacing at the only remaining name on the list.

 

Tim Drake.

 

“I suppose you're going to have no choice but to do the trial with Roth,” Clark said as he flicked through Tim's file on the touch screen. His mouth turned down into a scowl.

 

“No faith in the Inspector's opinion?” Damian asked with an arched brow. “Shocking. I'm sure she'd be quite unhappy to hear how scathing you are about her candidate.”

 

“Well I'm not in the business of wasting time vetting civilians with nothing in their backgrounds but a few college credits in psychology,” Clark replied acidly. “And he's just a kid, at that.”

 

“I was ten when I was inducted as an agent,” Damian replied, flashing his teeth in something more frightening than a smile as his green eyes bore into Clark. “He's nine years older. In fact, he's currently two years older than me right now.”

 

Clark's eyes focused on the mirror as Harvey brought Tim into the interview room. "You were ten and trained by one of the best assassins the League ever had. It's hardly comparable."

 

Damian jerked his gaze away from the General, unwilling to get on the topic of his father. Damian could tolerate Clark for the most part as long as the subject was left alone. He looked through the mirror again and for a moment he stared blankly at the individual on the other side of the glass. His eyes traced the features, moving over the black clothing, before once again going back to the face as Damian took in the boy who represented androgyny in every possible way.

 

He was average height and thin, although unlike Damian the slender build didn't appear to be deceptive. He sat straight in the chair, hands folded in front of him loosely as fine black hair fell past his shoulders and around the lines of his face, half shielding it from view. But Damian supposed, as he eyed the boy, that was probably the point.

 

Tim's face lacked the masculine angles so typically found in a man and his features were softer but not overly feminine. He was expressionless, his full lips naturally down-turned in what could almost be described as an unintentional pout.

 

When his uninterested gaze briefly slid around the room, glancing past the two-way mirror, Damian was able to see him more fully. His heavy-lidded eyes were a startling icy blue that momentarily captured Damian's attention to the point that he missed the first few exchanges between the two individuals on the other side of the mirror.

 

Interesting and not at all like the typical field agents who littered the compound.

 

Damian's lips pursed and he turned the name over in his head. Tim Drake. He could see the resemblance in the boy's features if not in his personality... because as the interview wore on, it became abundantly clear that he didn't actually have a personality.

 

Tim's expression remained blank throughout the interview, his eyes empty, his mouth moving only long enough to give answers in a toneless voice.

 

At a point it became irritating and Damian began to wonder if this was an act, an attempt like so many young people who liked the idea of personifying the bleakness that had encompassed the world after the war. But when the murders were mentioned, Tim's lack of reaction persisted. Irritation turned into intrigue as Damian abandoned his previous running commentary with the other candidates and focused entirely on the boy.

 

There was no fear in Tim's eyes when Harvey began to show images, no flash of disgust or horror when Harvey whipped out stills from the autopsies. And most interesting of all, Tim seemed to be completely unaware of the incident in the city center. He had no recollection of a suspected serial killer being mentioned on the news, however brief that time may have been. It hadn't been long before the images of an olive-skinned teenager with toxic green eyes were confiscated by League staff as Tim's mother had demanded a retraction from every form of media who had covered the story.

 

None of it seemed to mean anything to Tim. Damian's face, his name, his crimes… none of it sparked recollection, fear, or even interest. The boy just didn't seem to care.

 

Damian looked up at Clark, his expression completely serious for the first time in the past few hours. “Him.”

 

Clark's eyebrows rose as he studied Tim through the mirror. “I had a feeling that would be your opinion. It seems Janet had a point after all.”

 

Damian looked at Tim again and willed the boy to react to Harvey' words but there was nothing there. Interest blossomed in Damian as he sat back in the chair. “Getting him to break will be fun, at least.”

 

The General looked at Damian in consideration before he turned off the computer and the hologram disappeared from view. “We'll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next chapter:**
> 
> He couldn't help feeling frustrated and insulted. He thought they had the right to be upset but why was it his fault? Why did it have to become a personal affront to him when he hadn't said anything insulting to them?
> 
> He was only doing what he was told. His connection with his mother was not an enviable one and barely even existed, even with their shared blood. She had never been a particularly good mother. For most of his life, she had been gone more than she'd been around. When she'd been there, she'd often ignored or occasionally hurt him.
> 
> Although he felt compelled to make her approve of him, it was because she never really had. It was because he had no one else in the world and the thought of being left completely alone was alarming when he thought about spending the rest of his life with ghosts. It hadn't mattered before she had contacted him because he'd nullified his emotions but now if he had to go back he would have to build up to that all over again.


	4. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. I had a nasty cold and couldn't even leave the bed to post the chapter. But it's still this week :D I would have to count that as a win. I won't be able to post for the next three weeks due to the final exam but I will _try_ my hardest to get one chapter in. However, please don't be too hopeful. I gotta focus on college work, I apologize.
> 
> Thank you for all your comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions. They really do brighten my days immensely :D

 

_Tap tap tap tap…_

 

The sounds of Tim’s carefully measured footfalls echoed softly around him as he headed down the empty hallways toward his latest session with his personal trainer, a man named Slade Wilson, the one who had been assigned to train him in physical combat.

 

Having been given the summarized job description by his mother, Tim hadn’t known what to expect when the training started. The situation was still surreal to him at times. Lately, his day was divided into two parts: Training and resting. If he wasn’t training, he was resting and vice versa. There was no middle ground.

 

Ever since he arrived at the training complex, he hadn’t even left the building once. He hadn’t found a need to. The ten-story building was a peculiar thing altogether. It had everything from a cafeteria to high-tech training rooms to what essentially amounted to fighting arenas. The rooms were minimally furnished and all lacked personality or even a single window. With only the artificial lights illuminated the compound, it felt like time ceased to exist within the walls. Rather than learning about art, history or psychology, here, the subjects were much direr and more macabre.

 

He had also come to the realization that he was not the only person training to be a level 9 agent inside the complex but he was separated from the rest. His training had to be much more intensive in order to be completed within the time frame, especially because he had to make up for lost time. Compared to his training, Tim gathered, the other 9’s trainees must have a leisured walk-in-the-park through the subjects.

 

All the classes he attended were one-on-one. He was taught about the League’s goals and directives. They repeatedly stressed the importance of secrecy and success, and the consequences for the greater good if the League failed; or more accurately, if an agent failed a mission.

 

He had deportment training as well. The training focused on his behavior but also the way he looked. His main concern with the topic was his general lack of interaction with the rest of the population. He hadn’t communicated with anyone on any consistent basis for years and even before when things were good, he had always been a rather quiet person who preferred to be left alone if given the choice.

 

The most time-consuming and labor-intensive subject of all was being taught how to fight. Prior to stepping on the League compound, he had never been a particularly physical person. His primary exposure to any type of combat had been through the button-mashing combos in video games.

 

As a result, physical training was the most difficult for him. He was unaccustomed to such intensive sparring that spanned out for hours, and at times, the majority of the day. He typically went to bed exhausted but too sore to sleep and when he was woken up in the morning for his training, it always felt like he had not gotten any sleep at all.

 

Training had also proven to be extremely trying at times. He was constantly thrown into situations where it was impossible to do anything but interact with other people. The sparring had constantly put him in close physical proximity, with hands touching and bodies sometimes pinning him to the floor. He varied between finding it alarming, disturbing and simply downright uncomfortable.

 

Slade, of course, had taken notice to his aversion to people in the beginning. Apparently, with the intention of driving that out of him, his trainer had taken to touching him more often than necessary. It was always professional and non-romantic, with Slade’s hand wrapping around his arm or casual thumps on his shoulder from behind. The touches had made Tim jump at first, shying away from them. Slade had used it as a teaching tool to show him how not to react, which gave away to his opponent away to get under his skin, and also to hone his perception skill.

 

When Slade hit him on his back, or shoulder or arm, he would lean in and whisper things like. “This could be a gun, or a knife. You could be dead right now.”

 

It had taken Tim awhile to get used to it, and even longer to start taking notice of Slade’s presence before he approached. As of now, Tim thought he wouldn’t be able to detect Slade if the man didn’t want to be known. He was getting better though.

 

Tim turned the corner and slowed when he approached the training room. There were a man and a woman standing outside, leaning against the wall. The man was taller than Tim with shocking short red hair. He had his training gear on and was leaning against the woman much closer than necessary.

 

She didn’t mind though. She was grinning at him as if he had just told a joke and batted his hand away when he reached forward to grab a lock of her long black hair, tugging gently at it.

 

When Tim came closer, they both looked at him.

 

“I wouldn’t bother going in just yet.” The woman shook her head. “Wilson is on the phone with the Marshall and it always takes forever. You know how he is.”

 

Tim stopped, looking in the training room though his vision was limited. He didn’t know, really, but he assumed that if his trainer was talking to the Marshall, then it must be about something serious. A new mission, perhaps. Tim knew that Slade was more of an agent than a trainer and the only reason he was even training Tim was because of the man’s raw talent. Perhaps his mother had hoped that if he was trained by someone talented, then he could catch up faster.

 

“Alright,” Tim said after a short moment, leaning against the wall to wait. “Thank you.”

 

The man studied Tim with a puzzled look on his face. “Say, I haven’t seen you around. What are you here for anyway?” He asked curiously.

 

“It seems to be specialized training so I have been largely separated from everyone else.” Tim explained.

 

The pair exchanged baffled looks.

 

“Huh, that’s really strange. I have never seen you on the compound before, and you look so young.” The guy went on.

 

The girl rolled her eyes. “He doesn’t look that young, babe. I’d say at least seventeen or eighteen, right?” She guessed.

 

“I just passed my nineteenth birthday a few months ago.” Tim replied. “Why? How old are people typically recruited?” He asked curiously. He didn’t think he looked that young, but then again, he was very new to the whole thing.

 

“It depends on the position.” The guy explained. “If you are a military or a government recruit, it’s usually older but no less than mid-twenties. They like ‘em young. But if you are a jail recruit or civilian-oriented task, it can be basically any age. If you have the qualities they want, they’ll take you whenever.”

 

“I heard most of R&D and analysts were recruited real young.” The girl chimed in. “Most of them are really smart, Einstein-smart, I hear.” Tim nodded. That fit with what he knew about the League. Some areas probably worked better with young recruits.

 

“So, what’s your name and rank? I’m Jade, and this is Roy. We are training to test for level 9.” The girl said, jerking her thumb toward the guy with red hair.

 

“Tim.” Tim answered after a moment. “And I’m not positive what my rank is.” His eyebrows drew down at the thought, hating the unknown.

 

“Oh, that’s beyond strange, dude.” Roy commented. “Are you a probie?” He asked instead.

 

‘Probie’ was the slang for ‘probationary agent’ and one that Tim had learned fairly quickly. Many agents in the League liked to use that term.

 

“I've been here about two months but I believe they're planning to see how I do through training. I think at the end I'll be assigned a rank if I pass but prior to that I haven't been told what I am.”

 

This did not seem to be how things were typically done because Roy pressed, “Well where'd you come from? Why did they recruit you? Sometimes rank changes based on your background.”

 

“I didn't come from anywhere in particular,” Tim said with a shrug. “I'm one of the several people being tested to potentially be Agent Damian Wayne's partner. I suspect they're waiting to assign an official rank until they see whether I would work as his partner in the first place.”

 

Roy's eyebrows drew together, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Why the fuck would a new kid that ‘ _didn’t come from anywhere in particular_ ’ be training to be Wayne's partner? That position is way fucking up there. That's beyond most people's rank and classification.”

 

“Yeah,” Jade chimed in, not looking too happy with this development herself. “Did someone recommend you for some reason? I mean, are you sure it's the _Monster_ you're getting trained to be with?”

 

“I'm positive,” Tim said decisively. The young trainee glanced at the couple, observing their facial reactions at his next words. “My mother summoned me and explained the position. During the interview, they specifically stated his name.”

 

“Your mother?” Roy asked, confused. “Well, who in the hell is your mother?”

 

“Janet Drake.”

 

They stared at him at first in uncomprehending wonder and then slowly, in twin looks of irritation and hostility. Jade actually backed away a step, her mouth turning down into an ugly frown as she looked him up and down in sudden distaste.

 

“Ah,” Roy said flatly. “Now it makes _sense_.”

 

The obvious shift in their demeanor made Tim wary, causing his expression to automatically turn more neutral. Given that they'd changed after hearing his mother's name, the position of Wayne's partner was apparently one of note, and he knew that his mother was in a position of power, it was not difficult to draw some conclusions as to their thought process.

 

Even so, the looks of hostility made him wonder if he was missing something. “How so?”

 

“How so? _How so_? Let’s see, your bitch of a mother is the second in command here, you think the League just hands over rank 9 to a nobody brat without any background?” Jade asked bitterly. “Do you know how hard we had to work to even become eligible for rank 9 training and you're just being _handed_ it?”

 

Roy scoffed and shook his head, looking away. There was disgust in his expression as well as bitterness. It tugged at Tim’s heart. “Forget it, Jade. It's not even worth it. She'll do whatever she wants.”

 

“But it's not _fair_ ,” Jade insisted, glaring at Tim with obvious dislike. Gone was the friendly girl who had been trying to teach him the ropes. “It's so not fucking fair.”

 

Tim was silent, watching them. Their argument made sense. If they'd worked hard to get where they were at, it followed if they would be upset by him appearing without any credentials and being given an opportunity due to his mother's word. He didn't know what to say to that. They had good reason to feel spurned but at the same time, it wasn't his decision.

 

“I don't know what to tell you,” he said after a moment. “I've just been following orders. Perhaps you should talk to one of your superiors about it.”

 

“Yeah,” Jade said scornfully. “I'll get right on that but oh wait! Your _mom_ is second in command of the League and obviously she doesn't give a fuck about protocol or hard work or people who deserve promotions. Obviously she doesn't give a fuck that I've been here for six years and am just now in rank 9 training and even then, I'm not guaranteed promotion. But I wouldn't expect some PR bimbo who's never trained or worked in the field to understand hard work anyway. All she is, is a talking head.”

 

Roy shifted and looked uncomfortable, his brown eyes flitting around as if he was afraid of her being overheard. “Alright, alright… let's just forget it for now.”

 

But Jade didn't seem to want to forget it. She was flushing angrily now, her eyes narrowed into slits as she ranted. “Six _years_! Always having to work twice as hard as the men, always having to prove myself three times over while trying to escape valentines and you get to skip all that and get the second highest agent rank in the League. It's just like, mind fucking boggling that this is even allowed.”

 

Roy grabbed Jade's arm and tugged her away from Tim. “Don't be stupid. Just forget it. He can just go running to his mother if you keep running your damn mouth.”

 

Tim's eyes narrowed slightly. He didn't know what to say in response to her anger but the implication that he would tell on them irritated him. Being brought in by his mother didn't mean that he'd asked her to or that he planned to rely on that. “I won't tell her anything,” he said evenly. “We may be related but that is where the connection ends.”

 

“Right. That's why she made sure her boy outranks 90% of the field ops in the League,” Jade spat, flipping her hair over one shoulder. “Must be nice to get top pay and clearance right off the bat. Do you have any siblings that she's going to stick in here? Maybe she'll make the next one a captain.”

 

This time Roy rolled his eyes and jerked her away, walking away from Tim. “He probably won't live out the next few months anyway. He'll be gone before you know it. I can't believe you're getting all riled up over some little twerp. I didn't even know the bitch could conceive, though; that's the most shocking part of that whole...”

 

His voice trailed off as they disappeared around the corner.

 

* * *

 

 

Even after they were gone, Tim stared at the corner with a cold, closed off expression. The interaction had soured the day for him and made him wish not for the first time that he could go back to being removed from others.

 

He couldn't help feeling frustrated and insulted. He thought they had the right to be upset but why was it his fault? Why did it have to become a personal affront to him when he hadn't said anything insulting to them?

 

He was only doing what he was told. His connection with his mother was not an enviable one and barely even existed, even with their shared blood. She had never been a particularly good mother. For most of his life, she had been gone more than she'd been around. When she'd been there, she'd often ignored or occasionally hurt him.

 

Although he felt compelled to make her approve of him, it was because she never really had. It was because he had no one else in the world and the thought of being left completely alone was alarming when he thought about spending the rest of his life with ghosts. It hadn't mattered before she had contacted him because he'd nullified his emotions but now if he had to go back he would have to build up to that all over again.

 

When he looked in the room, he saw that Slade was in there stretching and getting ready. Tim walked in, frustration making it into the set of his eyes and the slight tightening of his jaw.

 

Slade quirked an eyebrow, looking him up and down as Tim dropped his bag to the side. He walked straight over to the weapons rack and picked up his preferred bo staff. When he strode back over to Slade, he still hadn't said a word and Slade's gaze had sharpened on him. “Well. I was going to point out you're late but now I'm wondering why.” He shook his arms at his sides to loosen them. “I didn't even know it was possible for you to look pissed.”

 

Tim didn't answer, staring him straight in the face with cool blue eyes. He flipped the staff up to protect his arms and then got into a fighting stance.

 

Slade straightened, looking unimpressed. “I've got news for you, kid. You don't get to ignore your trainer just because you don't feel like talking.” His sole one eye flicked to the weapon. “And put those down. We're doing hand-to-hand today.”

 

Tim's lips tightened into a frown. He would have preferred to work with something more complicated so he could get his mind off the twin shifting of expressions from confused and helpful to disgusted and angry. Even so, he complied.

 

He flipped his staff in a well-practiced movement before shifting it to his other hand. He was just leaning over to set it on the mat when Slade suddenly came at him from the side.

 

Off-balanced with the bo staff taking up his hand, Tim tried to drop to the mat and brace himself against the floor but Slade was too fast. Tim was thrown down to the mat on his back, his breath whooshing out of him. Slade moved to pin him but Tim recovered quickly, twisting out of the way and throwing himself back up to a stand.

 

Tim danced away, his gaze flicking down to the staff as he considered reaching for it, but Slade hooked it on his foot and kicked it clear across the room. It rolled and clattered but Tim didn't have the chance to see where the staff ended up because Slade came at him again.

 

They continued to spar, with Slade striking hard and fast and painfully throwing Tim down to the mat more than once. For his part, Tim was growing faster and he was good at slipping away. His thin form was harder to hold onto and he knew how to manipulate his attacker's joints so they were forced to let go.

 

As they fought, Slade continued to talk. “What made you angry?” Slade struck at Tim's side.

 

“I'm not angry.” Tim blocked and whirled out of the way before Slade got a grip on him.

 

Slade snorted. “Could've fooled me.” Silence except for the sound of their feet across the mats and their harsh breaths, and then… “Did it have something to do with those trainees out there?”

 

Tim punched Slade harder than usual, although Slade blocked it and redirected the momentum. “No,” Tim said firmly, twisting and jerking his arm back as Slade tried to capture him.

 

Slade smirked and didn't respond for a minute as they traded blows and dodges.

 

The fact that Slade had seen Jade and Roy and was pressing the topic was serving to irritate Tim e _specially_ because he wanted to use the sparring as a way to forget his frustration in the first place.

 

“Let me give you a piece of advice.” Slade was suddenly in Tim's personal space and dropped down, swiping Tim's legs out from beneath him before he had the chance to react. Tim slammed back onto the mat and Slade dropped onto him immediately, pinning him down with his face near Tim's.

 

Slade's eye was alight with adrenaline and a reflection of what often seemed like his obsession with training. The man could often be found in the training room, working out religiously and honing his skills. He was almost fanatical about it yet most of the time that intensity didn't make it to his expression. Inches from Tim's eyes, it did then.

 

“Probie mistake number one: letting emotions control you in a fight. It makes you easier to compromise.” Slade shoved Tim harder against the mat, his heavy body not letting up even when Tim tried to get away. His eye felt like it was burning a hole through Tim.

 

“You think your enemy doesn't notice when you're distracted?” Slade demanded. “You think just because you pretend to be an expressionless doll it makes you one? When you're at the job as long as I've been, you get to know people. And you would've gotten yourself killed just now, worrying about whatever petty issue you're having. Because when it comes to life and death, that's all those issues ever are: petty and not worth dying over.”

 

Tim's eyes narrowed and he tried to shove Slade off him but Slade accounted for the movement, easily holding Tim down.

 

“What's the matter?” Slade asked keenly. “You don't like this? You want me to let you up?”

 

Tim's heart was starting to thunder the longer he was held down; the longer he couldn't get away. “Get off me,” he said lowly, struggling harder.

 

Slade raised an eyebrow and didn't relent on his hold. If anything, his hands only tightened. His body seemed to grow heavier and more oppressive. Tim's breath quickened, his chest heaving from more than the spar, and he gritted his teeth. He tried to use the strength of the floor beneath him to escape but Slade held him as easily as a cat would a mouse.

 

Tim started to feel the distant claw of panic, growing closer and stronger and making his heart beat so hard he could feel it resounding in his chest.

 

“You've become adept at dodging and escaping,” Slade was saying in the background. “But I think it's for a reason. I think it scares you to be like this.”

 

Tim jerked against Slade's hold and had to clench his jaw to keep himself from making a sound. His entire body was taut with tension and suppressed fear. His eyes squeezed shut and he tilted his head back, trying to will himself to calm down; to settle down and think about this rationally; to simply relax and breathe.

 

But the words meant nothing against his shaking limbs. It wasn't working. It was never going to work. Slade was too heavy on him. He couldn't move. He wouldn't be able to get away –

 

“Why is that?” Slade's voice asked distantly.

 

Behind Tim's eyelids there was a flash of cement and a puddle of water.

 

_Confusing clips of voices; laughter both cruel and happy, and the twisted sound of a scream sounding far away and at the same time too close._

_Buildings reaching to the sky and a street growing too small._

_Red curling into the puddle, inch by inch changing it forever from clear water._

_And through it all being pressed down, harder and harder, lungs stilling with the feeling of suffocation –_

_Warm breath and a voice curling in his ear: “_ I want you to remember this forever _.”_

 

Tim didn't hear the strained noise he made or realize when he abruptly switched to mindless, panicked struggling. He threw himself into getting away, into ripping the heaviness off him and getting free. He didn't know exactly what happened; the next thing he knew he was standing back from Slade, his body arched defensively. His mouth was open as he panted harshly and he stared wildly at Slade as he expected some sort of attack.

 

Slade stood there calmly, watching Tim without surprise. “Probie mistake number two; letting those same emotions show. Creating a weakness.”

 

Tim didn't answer, still trying to calm himself down from the heart-fluttering panic. His heartbeat pounded in his chest, making him feel shaky from adrenaline and the aftermath. Slade studied him with narrowed, serious eyes and lips that turned down into a frown. He crossed his arms and then jerked his head to the side.

 

“Take five. After that we're going to weapons. You have an appointment at 2. Since we'll have to stop early today, I expect you to work harder than usual.”

 

If Tim had been capable of thinking clearly he would have questioned the appointment since he knew nothing of it. But he didn't want to talk at the moment and the short break sounded better than quenching any curiosity. Slade disappeared into a back room.

 

Tim walked over to the wall, the shakiness refusing to leave his limbs, and he dropped down. He pulled his legs in close and rested his elbows on his knees. His fingers dug into his hair as he leaned his head forward. He closed his eyes but that only caused a flash of blue eyes widening and turning red.

 

“Damn it,” he hissed quietly to himself, his voice harsh and a little strained. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on the rise and fall of his breath, and on calming his heart. He felt unbalanced and distracted and he knew neither feeling was going to aid him in sparring. He pointedly ignored every unwanted image that flashed behind his eyelids, and harshly shut down every emotion that rose in response.

 

He wondered if the interaction with Jade and Roy had tainted him; if the anger from that had compromised him. He thought it had… which meant he'd failed by feeling anything after their conversation. He shouldn't have listened to them. He shouldn't have _cared_.

 

What did it matter what they called him? What did it matter whether anyone hated him for something that wasn't his own doing? What did it matter if anyone on compound wanted him to die because his circumstances were abhorrent to them? He should have ignored them all. He should have let it wash over him. He should have known better than to react. It had been weak of him. It had been unacceptable.

 

He didn't like how often he'd had sudden hints of memories and flashbacks ever since he'd come to the League. He thought it was because he was around too many people at once for long of periods of time. He'd been able to silence and deaden everything in his home.

 

Here, he was already taxing a lot of energy dealing with all the eyes on him, the unfamiliar environment, and the new stimuli. It was tiring at times and he thought it could have been contributing to the disconcerting slips in his control.

 

It took him a little while but he was finally able to return to the comforting darkness that allowed everything to pass him by unheeded.

 

When he opened his eyes again and looked up he saw Slade across the room, seemingly ignoring him as he picked out some weapons. Even so, his head tilted just so in Tim's direction. He strode across the room and swiped the staff off the floor along the way.

 

Slade stopped at Tim's side and held the staff to the side, holding out his other hand. Tim stared at him a moment and then reached out, gripping Slade's outstretched hand. Slade's strong, blunt fingers wrapped around Tim's hand and yanked him up to a stand.

 

When they were facing each other, Slade silently held out the weapon. He didn't break eye contact even when Tim accepted it.

 

There was a long moment in which they stared at each other. Slade's gaze broke away first, taking in Tim's neutral expression and stance before he nodded in satisfaction. “Better,” he said as he strode toward the center of the room. He stopped and turned to face Tim, picking up a similar weapon to Tim’s and holding it in front of him. “I'm going to attack. Disarm me.”

 

They spent the next few hours sparring. Slade made it increasingly difficult, attacking Tim more quickly and less predictably. Tim ended up getting hit more than once, but he also disarmed Slade multiple times.

 

In one move, Tim stopped Slade's attack by alternating blocking with each end of the bo staff and got close enough to kick Slade hard in the solar plexus. Slade flew back, the staff falling out of his hands to clatter in front of Tim, who kicked it back out of the way and dropped into a defensive pose. Slade was grinning when he stood from the floor and told Tim it was well-played. It was one of the times he seemed truly pleased with Tim's progress.

 

They were in the middle of a particularly heated spar when Tim noticed movement at the door. It distracted him and Slade took advantage of it, twisting the weapon out of Tim's hand and flipping him over to throw him down onto the floor. He dropped onto Tim, using his own staff against his neck. Tim panted heavily, staring up at Slade who didn't linger. After he'd proven his point about Tim's fear of being held down he hadn't bothered to push it again.

 

Slade stood, absently twirling the staff in his hand as he looked over at the doorway. A young man with ginger colored hair, wearing a guard uniform was standing on the outer side of the mat. His name tag said Officer Wally West.

 

“You're here,” Slade said calmly. He jerked his chin toward Tim, who was just pushing himself to a stand. “He's ready unless you want to give him a chance to change.”

 

Wally glanced at his watch and shrugged. “If he's fast, I don't care.”

 

Tim took the opportunity to change out of his sweaty workout clothes. He didn't take long and on his way out he told Slade he'd be back to pick up his bag with his dirty clothes in it. He didn't see the need to drag it around with him when he didn't even know where he was going. He fell in step behind Wally, trying to get a gauge on their destination based on the direction. He was not very successful.

 

“Where are we going?”

 

“To the Fourth,” Wally said as they started walking. “I'm not sure what they have planned for you but I figure it has something to do with Agent Wayne.”

 

“What's the Fourth?” Tim asked. He had vague understandings of a place that a person didn't want to go but he didn't know much about it.

 

Wally glanced at him and up close, he appeared not as young as Tim had initially thought. He looked to be at least in his mid-twenties and had a more open face than most of the other people Tim had come in contact with so far.

 

“It's officially called the Fourth Floor Detainment Center. Very high security, can't really get there on your own...” He shrugged as they left the training facility and went into the outer courtyard of the compound. “There're different wings for different classes of people; everyone from detainees to staff who are being punished temporarily or indefinitely.”

 

Tim considered that a moment. “Is that where Damian Wayne is kept?”

 

Wally's mouth turned down slightly as he nodded. “Yeah. He used to be kept on maximum but now he's just kept in a holding cell until they decide what's going to happen with him.”

 

The situation seemed a little excessive to Tim. Then again, based on the impression he'd gotten from others, Damian was apparently a very dangerous and volatile individual so maybe it was necessary. “If he is as dangerous as I have been led to believe, why are they releasing him?”

 

The question was met with a shrug as they began making their way across the compound. There weren't very many people around although the people he saw all seemed to be headed to or away from the Tower, the same as he'd noticed the first time he'd set foot on the compound. It seemed that the place was the hub of activity on the property with the exception of the group of residential buildings. Everything else seemed still and damp as the cold wind whipped through the barren trees that surrounded the gates.

 

“I don't know, really,” Wally said. He sounded so genuinely thoughtful that Tim glanced at him again. The guard looked as puzzled by the question as Tim was and his ginger eyebrows had drawn together over his warm green eyes.

 

“He's a scary guy. The first time I met him he – Well, I guess I shouldn't talk about that... But I guess he must be a really good field agent and I'm not sure if everything they all say is true exactly how they say it.”

 

Tim studied Wally as they walked. Wally was the first person who hadn't seemed to immediately dismiss Damian, although Slade also hadn't seemed that interested in perpetuating any rumors. Any time information had come up about Damian that had seemed alarming, Slade had watched Tim with an unreadable frown, given a noncommittal answer, and had typically changed the subject. The only exception had been his emphasis on how important it was that he knew how to fight because being Damian’s partner was liable to be very dangerous.

 

It left questions in Tim's mind, some of which he didn't care enough to ask.

 

Others surfaced again and again, in variations of the same theme, and by the repetition made him wonder the answer. This was the first time the idea that not everything was as it seemed had been raised in so many words, and it made him wonder what caused it.

 

“You have seen something that leads you to believe the rumors aren't all true?”

 

“No,” was the honest reply. “I've seen him kill before and I think he's too dangerous and unstable to be put back on active duty. But then again, I don't know everything the big dogs know so that's just my personal opinion. A lot of the actual rumors though don't entirely make sense. I basically only believe what I see for myself. He can be dangerous but he can also be pretty calm and semi-normal acting from the way he's been on the Fourth lately. I guess it's all about the circumstance which is still pretty dangerous with the type of work you guys do.”

 

There was a pause and Wally glanced at him, frowning slightly. “I shouldn't be talking about this with you, by the way. Well, I don't think so. But being a probie and all, it doesn't seem fair that you don't get told anything.”

 

“Is there an unspoken rule against giving that sort of information?” Tim asked, mildly perplexed. “I have noticed that it's difficult to get straight answers. I don't know how much of it is due to the inherent secrecy of this place and how much is because of the position I'm nominated for.”

 

A gust of cold wind shot past them, pulling at Tim's hair and cutting straight through his clothing. He briefly regretted not having stopped by his room to pick up his coat, but he hadn't expected to be leaving the training complex. It was the first time he'd been out of the building since he'd first arrived, and he found himself glancing around at the changes.

 

The leaves were gone and the grass was tinged brown. Although he was only wearing a long-sleeved shirt, most people were wearing coats. He wondered if the guards got cold, having to wear their uniforms even in this chill. Even as he thought that, he noticed that a few of them had coats that matched their uniforms. He guessed that probably the ones who weren't wearing coats were the ones who were usually stationed inside a building and were simply on an errand at the moment, like Wally.

 

“I think it's due to the position. Most people are pretty biased against Wayne because of all the rumors. Maybe they like you being a blank slate.”

 

Tim nodded thoughtfully but didn't have a response. In some ways they seemed determined to keep him a blank slate by giving him little factual evidence. Yet at the same time that left him with only the rumors and the interview for the position, which had included questions which could, to an extent, taint him on their own. Given the choice, he would have much preferred unbiased facts which allowed him to draw his own conclusions.

 

Wally didn't say anything and the two of them ended up finishing the walk to the Tower in silence. They stopped in the elevator area but they went to a smaller elevator around the back corner of the main elevator bank. It had a red sign above it that said in large block letters 'RESTRICTED'. There was a small device to the side for swiping cards that was similar to what Tim had seen Johnson use the first day he'd been on the compound.

 

Wally swiped his ID through the device and a green light flashed to the side, allowing him to press the up arrow button. The doors slid open. The inside of the elevator was stark but there was a design built into the back wall of the elevator. It took Tim a long moment to realize it was hiding a tiny camera at about eye level, which he suspected was an extra precaution for this restricted elevator. It made sense to have a camera at eye level so a full face shot could be caught of anyone entering the elevator if the cameras in the corners of the ceiling could not get a clear shot.

 

The only button said '4' and as soon as Wally pressed it and swiped his card again on a similar device inside, the doors shut and the elevator started to rise.

 

“The floor is heavily restricted,” Tim observed, wondering if that was what Wally had referred to when he'd said Tim couldn't really get there on his own. “Is this separate elevator the only way to access it?”

 

“From an elevator, yeah. The main ones don't even have an option for the Fourth. Even the main stairwells don't have access – the entrances have been completely blocked off and the only one with access is separate and requires specifically coded access on your key card.”

 

The light flashed across '2' above the doorway, showing what floor they were passing.

 

Tim considered that. “If the clientele is so dangerous why is it in the main building instead of a separate one?”

 

Wally shrugged. “No clue. But it's not like they can escape so it doesn't matter.”

 

The light flashed past 3 and ended on 4. The doors slid open with a quiet whoosh.

 

“Who all has access to the floor?” Tim asked. He followed Wally as he walked out onto a stark white, tiled floor. Two other guards entered just as they left and Wally grimaced, not bothering to greet either of the two muscular men. He didn't answer until the door had slid shut and the other guards had gone.

 

“Officers, doctors, special ops staff who work up here...” Wally tapped his own keycard. “And the guards assigned to this floor. There aren't a lot of us. Those two guys, Jack Napier and Victor Zsasz, have been here the longest. They don't let a lot of people up here, usually. They just rotate the same people.”

 

Tim nodded. That made sense given the security. He wondered briefly about the location of the floor; why it wasn't in another building or why, being in the Tower, it wasn't on a higher floor.

 

As he thought about it further he determined that perhaps the reason was because of the location of the Tower. It was near the center of the compound. If a prisoner got away from this floor and headed downstairs, they still had a long trek in any direction to escape. Whereas if the facility was placed higher in the Tower, it would take them longer to get out but it would also place them that much closer to the seventeenth floor, which housed the administration. This floor had probably been chosen to maximize the buffer in both regards, in keeping prisoners from escaping from the compound or taking control of the organization by taking the administrators hostage.

 

Not to mention, he mused, the amount of security was quite high in order to enter the first hallway; even more so than what he'd seen when visiting his mother. Chances of escape were probably fairly low.

 

The fluorescent lights glaring down across the white floors and walls made the place feel sterile, like a hospital. The thought made Tim unconsciously cross his arms across his stomach, feeling uncomfortable.

 

“Keep up,” Wally said, glancing over at Tim. “It's easy to get turned around up here. Everything looks the same from the outside in every wing.” The way they wound through the place would probably be confusing for most but Tim had a talent for remembering directions. He often imagined the blueprint of a place around him based on the directions they took.

 

They stopped outside a room that looked just like every other room they'd passed. Wally slid his keycard through the door and opened it. When Tim entered, he saw that it was a relatively small room. Several chairs faced a wall with a large window looking into a brilliantly white room beyond. A black-haired man Tim had never seen before was sitting in one of the chairs.

 

Tim glanced at Wally, who was nodding respectfully to the man. Something unspoken must have passed between them because Wally glanced at Tim with a reassuring smile as if to wish him luck and immediately exited the room.

 

* * *

 

When the door was firmly shut, Tim hesitated and turned his attention to the man. He looked to be in his mid-thirties although there was a quality about his face that made it difficult to discern his actual age. His black hair and blue eyes added to his boyish features. Tim didn't know who the man was and wondered briefly whether he was another possible partner for Damian.

 

“Hello Tim,” the man said calmly.

 

Tim remained standing, watching the man and not knowing what to do. He wondered why the man knew his name and, because he was sitting in the back of the room, whether he was an officiator of some sort rather than a participant.

 

“Hello.” The older man stood and walked closer to Tim. “I'm General Clark Kent. You could say that I am the one closely overseeing this endeavor. I would have introduced myself to you sooner but your training is more vigorous than most and so I didn't think it wise to interrupt your regime.”

 

“Oh,” Tim said blankly, then thought to add a polite, “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

 

Clark observed him for a moment, his intelligent gaze raking over Tim thoughtfully. “Agent Roth will be here shortly. It's down between the two of you now.”

 

That bit of information was of mild interest to Tim because he hadn't thought he would be a serious candidate with such little background. “Did many people apply?”

 

“It wasn't a matter of applying so much as a matter of being invited to the trial,” Clark replied. “Since it has come down to you and Agent Roth, whoever successfully completes the trial will serve as Damian’s partner and the other will serve as back-up in case the original choice dies,” he replied in a matter-of-fact tone.

 

The thought didn't bother Tim; he was more focused on details of the trial he was in the midst of but knew little about. “What are the requirements for successful completion? Will there be a test?”

 

“No.” Clark looked towards the two-way mirror that spanned the wall of the room. There was nobody in the room on the other side; just a Spartan looking space that resembled an interrogation room.

 

The General didn't show any signs of answering Tim's first question but just when it appeared that he wouldn't, his eyes turned to Tim again. “The purpose of this endeavor is to find someone whose personality can adapt to Damian’s. He is valuable material to the League but his behavior can be extreme. We need someone who he cannot mentally eviscerate, to say the least. Someone strong enough in mind to handle him and the tasks that he refuses to perform.”

 

Tim was silent a moment as he considered that in conjunction with what his mother had told him the first day he'd arrived on the compound. “Are those tasks related to mediation?”

 

“At times but you will find that in our line of work, there is very little mediating with insurgents and terrorists. More often it will be conducting oneself with contacts, double agents and tasks that require going undercover. These are things Damian does not excel at. He excels at being a living weapon. For my unit, I need both.”

 

“I see.”

 

The information was not particularly surprising to Tim; it fell in line with what he had heard of Damian so far. He supposed working with double agents and such must be the additional duties his mother had mentioned. He could only assume the further training they would give him would include some sort of instructions regarding how to mediate or work undercover. The conversation felt, in some regards, one step removed. He may as well have been reading a spy novel about someone getting inducted to a secret League for all that he felt personally invested in the situation.

 

“So you would be my supervisor,” Tim observed.

 

“Your commanding officer,” Clark corrected tonelessly. His brow quirked as he looked down at Tim and for a moment a shadow of dismay crossed his face before it was gone. “Your role in the League exists within the confines of my unit. The purpose of that unit will be disclosed to you when you are chosen as Damian’s partner or upon Roth’s death if she is instead.”

 

“Then whose unit would I be assigned if Roth is chosen?” Tim asked. “As I would be functioning as back-up I assume the League would retain me in some function until the point I may be needed.”

 

Clark leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest as he went back to calmly observing the teenager. He didn't seem irritated by the questions and in fact, appeared to have expected them. It was possible that he had arrived before Roth specifically for this purpose; to finally give Tim the details about the job he would possibly be performing. Considering the General would serve as his commander, it made sense that he was taking charge of this aspect personally.

 

“Despite the fact that your training would be considered grueling by a civilian, it is not at all proportional to the training a real field operative would receive to achieve the rank you will be given if you are chosen. In that way, you would be stunted and could not perform as a regular agent. It works within my unit because you have a specific task and are not expected or needed to be much of a fighter so much as being able to defend yourself if need be. Outside of my unit, that would not be the case.”

 

Clark's cerulean eyes flicked away to the two-way mirror again. “If Roth is chosen, you would function in a menial civilian role on the compound until you are needed. Unless of course, you were to eventually consign yourself to the months and years of proper training to make it as an agent of rank who can perform independently.”

 

“Ah,” Tim said in understanding. He looked at the empty room through the two-way mirror, and although his expression didn't change he was inwardly frowning at the thought.

 

He didn't relish the idea of being a menial civilian employee. He didn't care for the idea of being stuck in a job he had to do simply to do it; he had the sort of personality that strove to better himself. If he was stuck doing something meaningless like mail delivery, he suspected it wouldn't take terribly long before he grew tired of the position and wanted to leave.

 

As far as that went, he would rather simply leave the League and return to his former life than taking on a menial position. Not to mention, he doubted his mother would appreciate him failing the trial and being given such a pointless role. Would she think he'd failed her?

 

Still, he wasn't surprised by Clark's answer. He hadn't expected that the League would let him leave after all the work they'd already put into him.

 

For those reasons, he felt somewhat invested in this whole process. But he didn't particularly care to be an agent either, he had to admit. Nor did he really care whether or not he ever ended up as Damian’s partner aside from the fact that it would potentially make his mother pleased.

 

The thought brought to mind what he'd thought his whole reason for being in the room was in the first place. He wondered idly what the man labeled a monster was like.

 

“I was told I would be receiving a glimpse of Damian.”

 

“Perhaps a bit more than a glimpse,” the General said vaguely before looking at the door which had opened just as the sentence left his mouth.

 

Level 9 Field Agent Rachel Roth entered the room. Her eyes, imperial purple-colored and dull, moved between Tim and Clark briefly. There was surprise evident in what Tim had come to recognize as her typically somber face.

 

“Am I late, sir?” She asked, addressing Clark.

 

“No.” The General didn't bother to explain any further and nodded his head at the seats. “Both of you can sit down. You will be observing a psychiatric session between Damian and a League doctor. It's an evaluation. You're not the only ones being tested during these few months.”

 

Tim glanced at the other two briefly. He hadn't expected to be privy to Damian’s psychiatric sessions, yet it made sense. Since a significant portion of the assignment as Damian’s partner would rely on working with his personality, it seemed as though it would be of use. Psychology had also been an interest of his during school.

 

Even so, it did briefly make him wonder what would happen if Damian failed the tests. Rachel would probably return to her current assignment and Tim would probably receive that menial civilian position Clark had mentioned. As for Damian, Tim didn't know or particularly care what would become of him.

 

He sat down in one of the chairs toward the right side of the large one-way mirror. In his peripheral vision, he saw Rachel take a seat as well.

 

They spent several minutes waiting, some of which were interrupted by Clark speaking to someone briefly on his comm unit. During this time Tim didn't speak and Rachel, as usual, acted as though Tim were not in the room. Rachel stared at the mirror in the same morose fashion that she seemed to stare at everything. The woman never seemed very thrilled to be doing whatever task was assigned to her although from what Tim had seen, she completed them with neat efficiency.

 

After ten minutes Clark flicked the lights off and within moments, the door on the other side of the mirror opened.

 

The figure that appeared was not what Tim expected. After hearing ominous warnings and rumors for a month regarding the monstrous qualities of the man in question, the image Tim had unconsciously formed was of someone who looked more... _alarming_. He'd thought the man would have a wild look to his eyes, perhaps be heavily scarred and look more like a prison convict than anything.

 

Instead, Damian quite short, seemingly a little bit taller than Tim but he was by no mean the imposing figure in Tim’s imagination. He was also impossibly thin. There was a slim metallic collar clamped taut around his neck but Tim was unsure of what its intention was. The worn cargo pants Damian had on were practically hanging off his narrow hips but the sleeveless t-shirt he wore displayed sculpted arms. Apparently, the weight he did have on him was crafted entirely into muscle.

 

He moved in a manner that showed the extraordinary control he had over his own body. Every movement seemed naturally precise and simultaneously predatory.

 

Every movement had a purpose but he didn't seem to consciously be giving that impression. It wasn't surprising; after all, Clark had said the man was a walking weapon.

 

Damian unceremoniously sat down on one of the chairs beside the plain table in the center of the room. Almost immediately, he looked up at the mirror and stared. It was obvious that he knew he was being watched. Perhaps he even knew who was watching him.

 

Now that his eyes were unwittingly locked with theirs, Tim had the opportunity to see the man's features clearly for the first time. They were strange and contradictory.

 

He had a straight aristocratic nose that sat above well sculpted and full lips. His cheekbones were high and his complexion looked like a caramel tinted tan. It was his eyes, however, that truly made his appearance out of the ordinary. They were almond-shaped, heavy-lidded and a startlingly vivid green. Thick, long lashes framed the pale green hue that contrasted starkly with his olive skin.

 

It was not immediately clear what his ethnic background was despite the fact that the name Wayne would imply he had a white background. Perhaps one of his parents was of another race.

 

Tim had planned to expend only the cursory amount of attention on the session but the man's unexpected appearance intrigued him for a reason he could not initially identify. It was probably because Damian had such unique features that Tim's automatic reaction was to consider him more carefully. He ran his gaze briefly along Damian’s face, studying him.

 

There had been a time when Tim had been interested in art, when he had drawn for fun. Damian’s was the sort of face even a former artist couldn't help observing more closely. The contradictions created questions in the back of his mind that he didn't fully pay attention to; questions that were fueled on a purely intellectual basis. What was Damian’s background; how could he supposedly be so strong with a body like that; why was he known as such a monster when he appeared relatively calm? Then again, some of the best serial killers had seemed not only perfectly reasonable, but charming and attractive as well.

 

Damian's eyes narrowed slightly, almost as if he heard Tim's thoughts. Damian’s gaze was intense; hawk-like. It was the glower of someone who could very easily reduce someone to a mass of shaking limbs if he chose. It made it abundantly clear that he was not pleased.

 

For a moment, Tim wondered why Damian seemed displeased before it occurred to him that it was possible Damian had not been aware this session would be observed. He couldn't blame Damian if that were the case; Tim wouldn't want a psychiatric session of his to be watched either. But then, he didn't have a reputation as a psychotic killer, to the point that someone had to watch over him.

 

One dark eyebrow arched and Damian scoffed quietly. “Well let's get on with it, then,” he said out loud, still glaring at the mirror.

 

In the darkness, General Clark chuckled quietly.

 

Tim shifted his head just enough to glance over his shoulder at Clark.

 

Strangely, the General had an almost... fondly exasperated expression. He seemed more amused than anything and the implication was that he was used to Damian acting like that. If anything, Clark looked more approachable in that moment than he had since Tim had met him.

 

When Tim glanced past Rachel, he saw that the agent was looking back at Clark as well. Rachel looked thoughtful as she considered the General, but she didn't seem surprised. That made Tim uncertain of whether this was an example of typical interaction between General Clark and Damian or if Rachel even knew.

 

It all only added to the oddity of the entire situation. Rather than try to analyze it since he didn't have enough information, Tim returned his attention to the other room.

 

Damian continued to look through the mirror unflinchingly. Even when the psychiatrist entered the room, he didn't tear his eyes away.

 

The psychiatrist introduced himself as Dr. Hurt and sat down across from Damian. He appeared to be in his mid-forties and had a distinguished look about him. There were silver streaks through his dark hair. His form appeared as impeccably fit as most people seemed to be in the League and his clothing was well made for the cold climate while still managing to be stylish.

 

For the most part the League staff appeared sophisticated, a step emotionally removed in one way or the other from typical civilians and notably blasé about what they did at the League. At first glance Dr. Hurt seemed to fit that mold perfectly but a closer look at his expression when he sat across from Damian showed otherwise.

 

Despite the fact that he should have appeared objective towards the man who he was supposed to be evaluating, a perceptible look of dislike crossed Hurt's countenance. His lip curled down as Damian’s eyes finally focused on him but the doctor smoothed out the expression quickly. There was still, however, animosity in his eyes.

 

Tim wondered idly if there was bad blood between the two men on the other side of the mirror but he found it unlikely. If Hurt felt the need to introduce himself, it was obviously the first time they had formally met. Perhaps even the League doctors shared the contempt and disgust that the general population of the League appeared to have for Damian.

 

The evaluation began with formalities. Damian had a history of incarceration on the Fourth that dated back nearly seven years when he had apparently been inducted into the League as a preteen. He had an equally long history of psychological examinations. Despite this, Hurt made it clear that Damian’s difficult behavior made it unlikely that there would ever be a clear diagnosis made for whatever his mental problems allegedly were.

 

Damian calmly agreed. It was clear throughout the first fifteen minutes that he found the entire thing to be a charade and a crock. He appeared quite aware of the doctor's dislike of him and didn't seem to be making any pains to change the other man's opinion.

 

“Why don't we just get to the point,” Damian said flatly after some time had passed. He was leaning back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest and shoulders thrown back. He was the picture of defiance and his eyes examined the doctor like he was something unpleasant that had fallen out of the trash.

 

Hurt's lips pursed. “Suits me fine,” he returned in a clipped tone.

 

Damian arched a brow. “So get to it.”

 

There was a pause as Hurt flicked his thumb over the hand held panel computer that sat in front of him. It was likely Damian’s file. “You have spent a significant portion of your career here locked on the Fourth. One incident even spanning for two years and the latest one that kept you there nearly a year.”

 

The brow remained arched. “Your skills of detection are quite unparalleled, doctor.”

 

Hurt's lips curled again but he continued briskly. “The incident which led to your first major incarceration in the Fourth Floor Detainment Center –”

 

For the first time there was something in Damian’s expression other than disdainful animosity for the man before him. Something dark washed over his face and sharpened his stare.

 

“– also led to you being kept in isolation for two years. Upon completion of that term you were put into intensive psychiatric care with Dr. Catalina Flores in the hopes that you would be proven to be stable enough to return to active duty so that your... talents could once again be employed.” The last part of the sentence sounded droll, nearly sarcastic.

 

Dr. Hurt tilted his head slightly. “You then proceeded to once again act out violently –”

 

“Perhaps you aren't intelligent enough to have reviewed that entire case file,” Damian replied stonily, his gaze black and hateful.

 

The doctor went on as if Damian had never spoken. “– and found yourself incarcerated for another two years. Once again, your talents were needed and you were evaluated, deemed able for active duty. But not even one year later you found yourself on the Fourth and in isolation once again for the deaths of four agents who had been assigned to be your partner.”

 

This time Damian’s full mouth turned up into a mocking smile although his eyes still promised murder for the doctor. Hurt stopped speaking briefly and shifted in his seat. There was a moment when his eyes flicked around before his fingers drifted from the panel computer and curled around a small innocuous remote that was at his side. Only then did he go on.

 

“Why should now be any different? You have made it clear that you won't cooperate with doctors… you will not alter your behavior. You will continue to behave antisocially and compulsively.”

 

Damian shrugged his scrawny shoulders, taut under the too-small shirt he wore. “I never said it would be different. This wasn't my brilliant plan, in case you missed that. The Marshal decided that their would-be replacement for me sucked enough for me to be drug out of my cave or some such thing.”

 

“But you don't want to return to that cave. Am I incorrect? So you do have something invested. And I assume, to avoid the aforementioned conditions of your failure, you will now make an attempt to not fail abominably.”

 

This time Damian didn't even bother to reply and several moments of the assessment followed in silence. They looked at each other, the doctor with an almost condescending kind of patience and Damian with ill-concealed dislike. He seemed resentful of the entire thing and his eyes flitted to the mirror on more than one occasion.

 

The doctor began circling the issue again, but Damian never budged. He never agreed or disagreed that he would play nice with his new ‘babysitter,’ as he called it.

 

Nearly ten minutes later, the doctor began tackling Damian’s past incidences more directly. “Your previous partners. I'd like to discuss what happened with them,” Hurt said as he ran one hand through his black and grey hair.

 

Damian's lip curled, giving him the scathing expression that seemed almost permanently etched into his features. “Don't you have a file somewhere with this information, doctor? Complete with snapshots of their corpses? Well… the ones that were recovered anyway.” Damian’s tone was darkly amused but the smile on his face looked like more of a grimace.

 

“Yes,” Hurt replied without blinking. “But I'd like you to tell me what happened. Something other than, in all of their cases, it was 'self-defense.'”

 

“Not all were killed in self-defense,” Damian retorted, the smile relaxing into a more natural-looking half smirk. “Some died out of sheer stupidity alone.”

 

“This amuses you?”

 

Damian scoffed, green eyes rolling. “Would it matter if it did? Stop pretending like any of this even matters.”

 

The doctor frowned. “Meaning?”

 

Damian's hawk-like gaze focused on Hurt yet again but it slowly slid to the two-sided mirror this time. “Meaning this whole thing is a charade. Even if I said I'd hacked them all to pieces with a dull knife before pissing on their bodies, it wouldn't change a thing. If Luthor wants to use me for something, he will.”

 

Hurt's expression lighted with irritation and he appeared to be fighting a scowl. It was unsurprising that the comment would displease him. It made the assumption that his position and job at the League wasn't anything more than a mere formality required by the powers that be. It implied that whether or not the doctor thought Damian should return to the field, it may not matter.

 

“On the contrary, Agent Wayne,” Hurt said stiffly. “If I deem you unfit, you will return to your quarters on the Fourth Floor Detainment Center and will likely be terminated if you do not become fit for duty any time in the near future. In your current state, you are a waste of resources. A being that must be fed and looked after while not providing a use to the League. If I believe you will cause the failure of missions, Marshall Luthor will listen to what I say.”

 

The words got an almost immediate response from Damian. Once again there was a moment of almost violence. The man projected such an aura of danger that even Clark shifted slightly from his place in the corner as if he were ready to rush into the next room.

 

Hurt's fingers caressed the remote and Tim watched Damian’s eyes focus on the movement.

 

The tension stretched on for nearly a full minute before Damian relaxed against the back of his chair and looked bored once again.

 

“So. Your partners?”

 

“Evan and Michelin thought being my partner meant I was their pet,” Damian replied coldly, not looking up from his examination of his fingers. “Not surprising considering the fact that the Marshal treats me like some kind of wild dog. A behavior that has bled down to the rank and file individuals of this organization.”

 

Hurt nodded minutely. “And they, I assume, were killed in self-defense?”

 

Damian shrugged again, tilting his head to the side briefly. “Laurel was too stupid to be saved. She tried to negotiate by pointing her gun. I wouldn't have attempted to involve myself in that colossal failure even if I'd been planning to initially. She was killed on a mission, not by me. I simply didn't save her. Coral wasn't any better. For all of his level nine training, he was a complete failure in a storm. He put together a ridiculous plan and, unsurprisingly, it failed.”

 

“You didn't attempt to rectify his mistakes,” the doctor observed.

 

The green-eyed agent smirked coldly once again. “No. Why should I?”

 

“Because you are meant to work as a team.”

 

“If the team is doomed to fail, why bother? I'll die eventually but it won't be by someone else's stupidity. If they aren't capable of respecting me or my experience as a senior agent, then obviously the partnership would fail. I don't give enough of a shit to try to salvage it.”

 

The comment was the end of Damian’s cooperation but the brief exchange was the most important one of the entire interview. Cold and callous, maybe. Antisocial, definitely.

 

But it seemed that Damian nearly always had some kind of reason for the things he did. And he appeared to wait for someone else to give the reason to actually act. His temper had been showcased more than once in his exchanges with Hurt but it was also obvious that he was more than capable of reining it in. It made Tim wonder what had happened to cause Damian’s previous two incarcerations and what had caused him to exhibit, in Hurt's words, ‘psychotic’ behavior.

 

The evaluation ended and Clark flicked on the lights. “Comments?”

 

Tim shifted so he could look over his shoulder at the general. Since he didn't have anything in particular to say, he simply shrugged and shifted his gaze to Rachel.

 

“Is he actually mentally disturbed?” Rachel asked with a hint of doubt in her low voice as her dark eyes remained on the vacated room on the other side of the mirror. “He appears normal to me. Extreme and quick tempered, but not as out of control as everyone says.”

 

Clark nodded. “For the most part he is. However there are times when he snaps and does behave psychotically and violently,” the General said vaguely, obviously not planning to go into detail about either event with the two candidates.

 

“Are there commonalities in what causes his psychotic breaks?” Tim asked, watching General Clark. “Something in particular that we should look for?”

 

“Not that I am aware. In one case it was a threat that wasn't even directed at him and in another, it was in response to commentary that I would have thought would have normally rolled off his back.”

 

Rachel's eyebrows rose. “Interesting that missions would be entrusted with such an unstable individual. If his triggers aren't even known, how can he be trusted at all?”

 

Clark shrugged although it did not appear that he disagreed. “He can't. That's why the two of you are here. To ensure that he does not act rashly and in the case that he does, that the situation is controlled and rectified. His skills as a fighter are too valuable to be lost completely. You two are expected to make up for where he fails.”

 

The idea of being adept at aspects of the position that Damian was not adept at did not particularly bother Tim. By the time he was done with all the training, he assumed he would be versed in the basics of any skills needed. However, what he didn't understand was the other part.

 

“How are we to control or rectify his behavior when we clearly would be outmatched in strength and skills?”

 

Rachel gave him a dull look. The woman likely did not appreciate being associated with the extent of Tim's lack of strength and skills. Tim wasn't bothered by this. As far as he understood, Damian was superior to everyone. He suspected that no matter the amount of additional training, Rachel would lose in any altercation against her possible partner.

 

Clark's eyes moved away from them briefly. There was a pause before he spoke again but when his gaze returned, his expression gave nothing away of what he was thinking. “Implements have been put into place to ensure that the two of you have a mote of self-defense against so skilled a killer. There is the collar, for one.”

 

Another brief pause.

 

“It serves as a highly modified Taser and tracking device. One that can only be removed from his neck surgically. If activated by the remote control, it has the ability to completely incapacitate Agent Wayne. However whether or not you are able to use it before he takes it from you, is entirely in your own hands. No method is completely foolproof,” he said without compassion.

 

There was a brief silence.

 

“Am I correct in assuming that for some reason he is more invested... in making this round of trial partnerships work?” Rachel asked finally.

 

“You are correct. He claims that he will make the effort this time to avoid a return to the Fourth if his partner is acceptable. The circumstances upon his incarceration have been made considerably harsher the last time he was put in.”

 

“How so?” Tim wondered exactly how motivated the man would be.

 

Clark looked at them with carefully constructed detachment. It wouldn't have seemed out of place if it weren't for the fact that he hadn't appeared so impassive and emotionless up until the point where torture devices had entered the conversation. “I will not go into specifics except to say that Damian has a weakness and they have now decided to exploit that weakness when he is incarcerated. He now has reason to fear the Fourth. It is in his best interest to not return there.”

 

Tim inclined his head in a slight nod and looked away, his gaze drawn toward the empty room. The question briefly crossed his mind of what Damian’s weakness could be. Since he had nothing to say in response to the information General Clark provided, he remained silent.

 

“If I may ask a question, General?” Rachel asked. Her voice was low pitched and nearly always sounded glum although her expression didn't necessarily seem overtly unhappy about anything.

 

“That's why I'm here.”

 

“You know him fairly well. What do you anticipate being the most challenging aspect of this aside from possibly being killed during one of his... fits?”

 

“Not reacting to him the way he wants you to,” Clark replied bluntly and without hesitation. “Damian will bait you and he won't do it in the same way every time. He will try sarcasm, cruelty, intimidation – whatever he thinks will get a rise out of you. He expects the worst from people and he trusts no one. If you don't show overt hostility towards him, he will only expect that it's something that will come later. He is used to both physical and verbal abuse from the people here. He is used to being condescended to and treated as though he has lesser intelligence. He is used to not having an ounce of respect from anyone. He will be waiting for you to prove yourselves to be like everyone else and if he sees that, he will react to you exactly as he reacted to the others. It is your job to not let that happen.”

 

When Rachel didn't seem suitably impressed, Clark shrugged his wide shoulders. “Whether or not you heed the warning is entirely up to you. But just let it be known, even if you think you're fully capable of not letting him get under your skin you may be in for a surprise. What happens after that depends on how you react to him.”

 

Neither of them responded.

 

The meeting ended fairly quickly, with Rachel leaving without a word and Tim being escorted back to the bunker.

 

* * *

 

The next few weeks passed uneventfully. Training continued to consume Tim's days; from physical sparring with Slade to mental exercises in classes. He listened and took notes where needed but otherwise didn't spend much energy on the endeavor. If he'd had anything else to think of he would have found his mind wandering. He had a tendency to learn quickly, especially anything academic, and that didn't change even with the drastically different subjects.

 

He had settled into a routine after a point. For that reason, he wasn't expecting to be pulled aside by a guard after deportment training one afternoon. He was told he was to see General Clark right away. He didn't question the order.

 

When they arrived at Clark's office, they stopped at the waiting area. A desk sat to the side, a woman typing at the computer until she noticed them enter. She looked up at them. Tim didn't pay much attention as the guard explained who they were and the woman eventually used the intercom to announce their presence. The door opened soon after and the guard left Tim to walk in alone.

 

The office was larger than he would have expected it to be but not as large as his mother's wing on the upper administration level. The General had it sparsely decorated. There was a single picture frame on the desk facing away from Tim. Black and white stills of the former city skyline were in small frames on the wall. They contrasted with the wide floor-to-ceiling windows that spanned the back wall. It showed the fractured cityscape that lay below the Tower and the wasteland beyond that had once been suburbs.

 

“Tim,” Clark greeted him calmly.

 

“General Kent,” he said, shifting his gaze from the window to Clark. He paused near the desk and heard the guard shut the door behind him.

 

“It seems that you're going to be our man.”

 

Tim stared at Clark. He hadn't been expecting that, especially since as far as he knew the trial wasn't over. “Did something happen to Rachel Roth?”

 

Clark gave him a wry smirk. The slight narrowing of his cerulean blue eyes contrasted the quirk of his mouth. “Agent Roth lost interest in finishing the trial. She decided that dealing with Damian would be too much effort for very little gain.”

 

“I see.” Tim stared at Clark for another moment. “When do I start?”

 

“When your training is complete. Afterward, you and Damian will be introduced and a meeting will be held for the unit so that you can meet the other members.”

 

Tim watched him. “Okay.”

 

There was silence and for a moment disappointment was easily read in Clark's expression. His face was an open book to Tim, who was used to being able to read even the least expressive of people. The General didn't want some skinny unskilled child to be in his elite unit. He'd wanted the woman who'd already put in years as an agent; the woman who knew what she was doing and didn't have years' worth of training crammed into months.

 

But Clark seemed kinder than most people at the League and he didn't say any of this out loud. Possibly to spare Tim or possibly because it didn't matter.

 

“Well. Good luck to you.”

 

Clark looked at his computer again and the brief discussion was already over.

 

Tim left the office and returned to training. He couldn't help wondering what his mother thought about his progress and whether she was following it at all. He couldn't feel particularly accomplished about becoming the new partner for Damian since he was chosen by default. But that knowledge wasn't going to stop him from attempting to excel at training. He knew no one expected much from him but it was even more for that reason that he at least wanted to avoid those disappointed stares.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next chapter:**
> 
> Breaths left him in a painful, clawing rush that his body automatically fought against. His chest strained for air, his lungs dragging out against a near vacuum. His mouth could have fallen open; he could have kicked viciously at Damian and struggled like a worm trying to dislodge a fish hook. He could have clawed at the hands around his throat and he could have stared in desperation and fear down into Damian's eyes.
> 
> But he _didn't._


	5. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, self-restrains is a luxurious thing for me. I already restrained myself by not posting this _yesterday_. I can't promise there will be an update in the next two weeks, but you never know *winks* In the worst case scenario, I will post after exam is over, which means after the next two weeks. Best case scenario, there will be another chapter next week.
> 
> ... Happy International Children's Day. Here, have the first 'real' Dami  & Tim interaction.
> 
> Another thing I want to make sure you guys understand is that DamiTim, JayDick, BruClark are the end game. No question asked. However, inbetween, don't be surprised if there are other pairings that get in (I'm a terrible sinner, okay? I ship everyone with everyone) but I don't tag them because they aren't the end game here. :D
> 
> Once again, thank you so, so much for all your comments, kudos, bookmarks and subscriptions. I do appreciate each and every one of them. They are my motivation to continue this <3

Time crawled while one waited.

 

Tim had a deeper understanding of that fact as he sat there, waiting for his supposed partner. The wall clock ticked away, one second at a time. The young man’s icy blue eyes slid from the moving hands down to the face of the man sitting opposite to him, the General. Neither of them spoke and while the silence may seem oppressive at times, it also allowed Tim to think of different scenarios for the upcoming meeting.

 

So far, all of his conjured situations ended terribly.

 

Once the clock marked exactly 30 minutes since Tim arrived at the General’s Office, there was a knock on the door. Both Tim and Clark turned their attention toward the door.

 

“Enter,” Clark said simply.

 

There was more shuffling before the door opened and six muscular men came in, all dressed in full battle gear, heavy Kevlar vests weighted down on their shoulders. Tim strained to see past the sea of men. However, before he could catch a glimpse of the infamous Damian Wayne, the men already parted and the agent in question was pushed forward roughly.

 

Damian let out a growl at the rough treatment and he struggled to free himself from the tight grip on neither of his arms. He glared hatefully at the muscular men before straightening his back and stared directly at Tim.

 

For the first time since the whole thing happened, Tim and Damian locked eyes with each other without anything in between them. No two-way mirrors, no reinforced glass, just two strangers seeing each other for the first time.

 

Tim took his time to study the so-called ‘Monster’. Standing in the middle of the towering group, Damian looked impossibly young. And young Damian was. He was only seventeen, wasn’t he? And yet, in others’ eyes, the agent was already a ‘man’, not a ‘boy’.

 

Damian’s hands and legs were shackled by heavy metal, the gleaming chains chimed with each movement he made. Personally, Tim thought it was overkill. However, according to the files he had read, Damian had managed to cause commotions under similar precautions before. It seemed that once he had decided to fight, not much could stop him.

 

 “This is fucking idiotic,” was the first thing that left Damian’s lips as he glared at everyone in the room, bright green eyes shifted from Clark to the female Lieutenant, Lieutenant Amy Rohrbach. He rattled the chains, his lips twitched angrily.

 

“Necessity?” Clark’s eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the woman.

 

The Lieutenant shrugged but didn’t look apologetic. “Marshall Luthor has stated that all precautions are to remain in place until the Drake boy’s training has completed and the final psych evaluation is put through Wayne. It’s a lot of red tapes but he hasn’t been able to roam free for years and Luthor isn’t taking any chances until everything is on the computer. If Wayne causes another mess in the middle of the compound, the Inspector will flip her shit. She still has to conjure cover stories for the dead staff with civilian ties.”

 

“Ah,” Clark’s eyes shifted to Damian who looked beyond irritated. In fact, he looked outright murderous. “Well, I have full authorization to use the collar at will, so your presence and the shackles won’t be necessary any longer.” The General said finally.

 

“Considering the fact that his evaluation will be processed within the hour, I don’t think they were even needed in the first place unless they were there to create a spectacle of him at the last possible moment.” Clark said dryly, the corners of his lips turned down in displeasure at that. Was he angry on Damian’s behalf or just angry at the barbaric act, Tim wasn’t sure.

 

Amy shrugged again. There was nothing she could do about the situation. The order came straight from the top and even though Clark was the third-in-command, his words just couldn’t outvote that of the Marshall.

 

One of the escorts moved forward, holding up a key to unlock the metal bands around Damian’s wrists. Tim recognized the man. He was one of the officers guarding the Fourth. Jack Napier, the officer with the cruel smiles.

 

Tim couldn’t help but notice that the same cruel smile he had seen earlier was now present on the other man’s face again. When Jack locked eyes with Damian’s, his expression looked cruelly amused and he jostled the other around more than absolutely necessary. Damian didn’t respond other than a narrowing of his eyes but he looked like a coiled spring ready to snap at any moment.

 

When the restrains were removed, the guards stepped back almost immediately. They looked more on their guard now that the ‘Monster’ was released.

 

Jack was the only exception. He continued to smirk. Tim briefly wondered what the reasons for Jack’s attitude but he decided it wasn’t important enough to take the time to consider.

 

“Good day.” Clark said pointedly when the guards lingered.

 

Amy nodded but a look of hesitance crossed her face. Only after her eyes moved from the General’s face to the activation device for Damian’s collar that she turned around and exited, signaling for the other guards to do the same.

 

“You can sit, you know.” Clark said patiently once the last of the guards had closed the door behind them, undeterred by Damian’s glower.

 

“I prefer to stand.” Damian replied flatly. He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze focused on the window. There was something ill-fitting about his clothes; the shirt seemed to be too tight but the pants were too loose. They hung on his hips precariously due to the absence of a belt. Tim suspected that while he was detained, Damian was not allowed the luxury of having one.

 

“If you play nice, you’ll be able to avoid scenes like that in the future. Your co-operation in this project will ensure that your situation will change for the better. Indefinitely.”

 

Damian scoffed at that. He appeared to be in a very dark mood though it was unclear why. It seemed unlikely that a man who was typically kept locked up would react so strongly against being restrained. From what Tim had heard, Damian was more often than not kept restrained when moved around the compound. It made Tim wonder if it had anything to do with Jack and his attitude, or the way Amy had escorted him over.

 

Damian absently raised a hand to scratch at something on his inner forearm. Upon closer inspection, Tim saw that ‘something’ was a tattoo of a bird, a robin to be more specific, perching on a branch. There were also words following the arch of the robin’s body though, from this distance, Tim couldn’t make out the words.

 

Clark leaned back in his chair and observed Damian. He appeared completely at ease when dealing with Damian. He was the first person Tim had encountered that seemed unfazed by the ominous-looking man.

 

It was another oddity to the whole situation. From what little information Tim managed to gather, the General had a strange affinity for the senior agent. The exact reason was unknown though some had speculated that it had something to do with the past partnership between the General and Damian’s supposedly deceased father.

 

Even so, one would assume that over time, Clark would have seen Damian for who he was. Did Clark know something about Damian that others didn’t? If Damian was truly the ‘Monster’, the unrepentant, psychopathic killer everyone made him out to be, why would Clark put so much effort into him regardless of how strong his past friendship may have been?

 

“The arrangements have already been made for you to have your own quarters contingent on the success of this trial,” Clark said after a moment, his eyes were strangely hopeful.

 

That comment seemed to draw Damian’s interest and his gaze finally focused on Tim. One dark eyebrow rose doubtfully as he took the sight of his partner in.

 

“He looks even more frail and pathetic up close. If he dies, people will blame it on me again.” Damian stated with a look of disgust. He spoke as if Tim was not in the room to hear his comment.

 

“Likely,” the General replied dryly. “So it’s in your best interest to see that he doesn’t.”

 

Having already accepted that his lifespan would likely be very short, Tim didn’t let the words bother him but instead, focused his attention on studying the expression and body language of the agent in front of him. He found it strange that he couldn’t read anything beyond the irritation that had radiated from Damian’s body since he arrived. Usually, he didn’t have so much this difficulty to get the idea about a person and their personality.

 

“The purpose of this is for the two of you to meet before being suddenly thrown into a mission together. Introductions aren’t necessary; you know all about one another by now. Tim, you will meet the rest of the team in a more formal unit meeting tomorrow morning.” The General said once it was apparent that neither of them was willing to speak first to each other.

 

Clark had mentioned a unit before but never said much about it. Tim looked over at Clark, focusing on the man for the first time.

 

“Will I receive more information about the unit?”

 

Damian’s gaze switched back to Tim and remained there. It was intensely penetrating and hawk-like. The average person would have been unnerved by such an unblinking stare even without the violent history that trailed behind the man. For the most part, Tim ignored it.

 

“Yes.” Clark shifted in his seat to access the touch pad that was embedded into the table beside him. “Information about the unit has been withheld until now because although every aspect of the League is highly confidential, what we do in my unit is even more so. The sensitive nature of our operations can be sabotaged if the wrong word gets out and there is always a chance of betrayal. Even within our own ranks.”

 

It seemed as though there were many layers to the League, which did not come as a surprise to Tim. A place that fashioned itself after a real chemical company in order to be out in public while carrying out highly secretive government missions was likely to have multiple levels of confidentiality.

 

“What is the nature of the unit?” Tim asked.

 

“Are you familiar with the terrorist organization called the Court of Owls?”

 

“No.”

 

“Considering your psych profile states that you have been isolated from the world for quite some time, I cannot say that I’m surprised,” the General replied although there was an acrid quality to his tone.

 

One of Damian’s dark brows rose at this statement but otherwise, his intense but inscrutable stare remained unchanged. Clark flicked something on the touch pad and a holographic image appeared above the table between them. It was detailed and very sharp just like the life-like holograms that Tim had practiced shooting in training.

 

The images that appeared were set up similar to a slideshow. They were photographs from the carnage that had occurred during World War III. They showed explosions and bombings in the United States, Europe, Russia, Asia... evidence of once-powerful countries and former allies slaughtering one another for what had turned out to be a ten-year war.

 

“After the Three Treaties were signed and peace,” the word rolled off Clark’s tongue somewhat blandly, “was established between the three different sides, not everyone was satisfied. Millions of people all over the world actually protested the treaties. Rallies were held everywhere with the general consensus that after ten years of carnage and millions of people dead, the three powers were essentially brushing their squabble under the table because nobody was winning. The people were expected to go back to business as usual as if none of it had ever occurred despite the somewhat damning evidence of mass graves, a destroyed environment and internationally poor economy.”

 

A ghost of a smirk appeared on Damian’s full mouth.

 

Clark flicked something on the pad again and the images changed to show the rallies that he was talking about before finally settling on one. It appeared to be the memorial park in Washington DC but it was a scene of chaos. There were dead or unconscious people strewn around a rectangular area with the remains of a monument in the middle of it all.

 

“The concerns of these individuals were ignored worldwide. The end result was thousands of groups internationally forming in protest with the goal of either removing the leading government of their countries politically or in most cases, by force. These insurgent groups have grown over time and have actually become a danger to the governments they oppose as they draw in more and more followers. The Court, short for the Court of Owls, is one of those groups. They started as a small organization of protesters and eventually grew into one of the largest insurgent organizations we have seen so far in history. Their power has spread beyond focusing on the United States and they now work side by side with groups in Europe and Asia to form an army that is dedicated to uprooting the administrations that they deem are unfit.”

 

“Tell him the part about how they’re all nothing but terrorists,” Damian interjected blandly, his eyes still on Tim. “Let’s not forget all of that League propaganda. Otherwise, he may just start sympathizing with the bad guys.”

 

Clark gave Damian a level look before swiveling his cerulean stare back to Tim. “Despite their self-proclaimed nobility of wanting to change things for the good of the people, both their method and their intent have changed over time. Perhaps their words were true at the start but now the Court has become very similar to an overgrown and supremely dangerous political party. They want power and they will go about corrupting, infiltrating and murdering until they get what they want. At this point, they have such powerful allies that it is possible their aims will come to pass.”

 

The General indicated the image floating between them. “What you see here was their very first message of opposition. In 2050, on the one-year anniversary of The Three Treaties, they bombed the WWIII Monument in the National Mall. It turned into a massacre of government officials, military personnel and civilians alike.”

 

Tim studied the image, looking at the dead bodies strewn around. A woman’s arms were stretched in death toward her child lying two feet away and she was missing her lower half. Couples and families and individuals, different ages and races all alike in death.

 

He considered the Court and the other groups’ premise. The war had certainly destroyed a lot, including families. At one time, maybe he would have sympathized with them. After all, the war had stolen his father and Conner’s parents. In a way, maybe it stole Conner and his mother from him as well. Maybe without that war his life would not have gone in the direction it had and he wouldn’t have spent years closing down bit by bit until there was nothing but a shell left.

 

Tim thought about what his mother had said, regarding protecting the world from terrorism and supporting the US government. He took into account the fact that Clark had said his unit was especially high clearance. His mother had said that the League carried out the missions and goals that the world at large could not know about or else it would be taken the wrong way.

 

It would follow that a group that could garner civilian sympathy against the government would be considered a higher threat, and that any unit aimed at working on that would need higher clearance due to the more sensitive topic.

 

He looked over at Clark again, meeting the older man’s eyes. “I see,” he said without inflection. “And your unit exists to deal with this threat specifically.”

 

“Precisely. We are Court-oriented, along with any other organizations that orbit around them. This unit requires the agents within to perform in every role. Field agents are typically categorized based on their skills and distributed as needed once they are assigned a division. The Court Unit encompasses every division and requires you to perfect every skill. You will not just be doing storms or gathering Intel or going undercover. This unit requires you to do everything.”

 

“I see,” Tim said before he decided to ask. “How many other field agents are in the unit?”

 

“Short answer: None. You and Damian are the only field agents we have right now.” Clark said frankly. “Longer answer: None _right now_. Beside two Research and Development agents and an analyst, two more level-10 field agents are supposed to join the unit. However, since both of them are currently off to complete a classified long-term mission, they will be joining later.”

 

Tim’s eyes narrowed faintly, briefly; the most reaction he’d shown so far. He shifted his gaze to settle on Damian, who was staring in boredom into empty space. He understood that Damian was supposed to be a one-man killing machine but if it was such a high-level unit it seemed as though it should have a larger group. What could two people conceivably accomplish against an international organization? Later on, there would be two more, however, essentially, as of right now, it was two against an international organization.

 

He returned his stare to Clark. “Why?”

 

“Because the Agency lacks people with high enough classification to perform in this unit. We only have three level 10 field agents, two who are currently abroad and the other who is currently in this room and cannot work with others. But Damian is necessary because he can do what in normal cases would require an entire team.”

 

“Good to be so needed,” Damian said sarcastically, snorting.

 

Tim ignored the other’s jab and instead, mulling over the General’s words. He found a flaw in the man’s sentence.

 

“If Agent Wayne is incapable of working with others, how will the unit be expected to work together if those other two agents join? Won’t that make it difficult to cooperate?” He asked.

 

“The two agents who will be joining are Senior Agent Richard Grayson and Senior Agent Jason Todd.” Clark said, glancing at Damian as if asking for permission. The younger male just jerked his shoulders in a shrug. Apparently viewing it as a ‘yes’, the General continued. “Richard and Jason, they have a… history with Damian, don’t worry, cooperation between them won’t be a problem.”

 

The General didn’t seem to incline to divulge any more than that. Tim could understand it. The information was news to him. It was obviously not common knowledge. Perhaps Clark or Damian didn’t want others to know about it.

 

Clark seemed satisfied that Tim had grasped the necessity for discretion but Damian was just starting to look increasingly uninterested by the proceedings of the meeting.

 

Despite this, Damian gave Tim another one of his penetrating stares and said in the same bland tone he seemed to use for most things. “You speak as though you actually believe he will survive the first assignment. I’ve never seen a more helpless looking being.”

 

“I should think you of all people understand that looks can be deceiving,” Tim replied, meeting Damian’s stare head on without flinching.

 

Damian smirked at him, vivid green eyes glinting beneath the bright lights. “Am I to believe that there’s a fierce fighter lurking beneath that effeminate exterior?”

 

Tim shrugged. “Whether I am or not is irrelevant. Considering how little you know about me it’s foolish of you to make assumptions based on my looks alone.”

 

“Assuming I know little of you is foolish all on its own. They have a whole file on you. On every minuscule detail of your unimpressive existence. If I really thought you were going to last more than a day, I could very easily go look at it and then I would know things that you don’t want anybody to know.”

 

“The existence of the information is meaningless unless you looked at it prior to commenting,” Tim said unconcernedly. “Which you’ve as well as admitted you didn’t.”

 

Damian just shrugged, not appearing very impressed or interested in the debate. “Why don’t we just see him fight without the training wheels and it can be seen whether or not my assumption was correct?”

 

Clark opened his mouth as if to deny such a thing but he seemed to think better of it because he paused. After a brief moment he looked at Tim with raised eyebrows. “Do you oppose the suggestion? It does have some merit. You’ve seen what he’s capable of but not vice versa. At this point all Damian knows is that you received what should have been two years minimum of training within a span of a handful of months. Assuming you’re completely incapable, in that context, isn’t too surprising although it’s due to no fault of your own. Showing your partner that you are capable of defending yourself may be helpful in terms of him taking the partnership seriously. You were selected largely based on your personality and psych profile. However if he truly believes we are sending a lamb out to be slaughtered, he won’t even –”

 

“Have you forgotten that I’m sitting in the room?” Damian asked drolly, eyeballing the General with obvious irritation.

 

“– attempt to make the effort to aid you.”

 

“Assuming I would regardless.”

 

Clark gave Damian another of his level stares before looking at Tim once again.

 

“Thoughts?”

 

“It’s fine,” Tim said impassively. “The logic is sound. I can fight.”

 

He had little doubt in his mind that Damian would win any spar, assuming they went against each other, but he knew he had at least the basic capabilities of defending himself. If it would benefit the partnership to display this fact via a fight of any sort, it was fine with him.

 

“Good. Let’s go down to the training room.”

 

* * *

 

The trek downstairs was largely uneventful, although they must have been a spectacle of some sort because they drew attention from several people along the way.

 

It wasn’t too surprising given that their trio was made up of the third in command of the League, the widely disliked second in command’s son and the most infamous agent.

 

Whatever the case, Tim didn’t pay much heed to the extra eyes on them. He followed behind Clark and Damian trailed behind him at times, walking alongside him at others. His soon-to-be partner didn’t speak but his eyes were often on Tim, observing silently without giving away anything of what he thought.

 

When they arrived at the training room there were a few people sparring in the main area. Most, if not all, stopped to look at the three of them. Clark gave the gawkers his level-eyed glare and they immediately appeared to go back to what they’d been doing prior to the entrance.

 

Tim didn’t see Slade around which was atypical for the man that Tim had come to believe may even have a cot hidden in a room somewhere nearby. Slade nearly seemed obsessed with training and sparring. Or maybe he had a very strong passion for it and truly enjoyed it. Both concepts felt foreign to Tim in recent times.

 

Clark led the two of them into one of the single session sparring rooms off to the side and shut the door behind them. It was a quarter of the size of the main room and equipped with its own weapon rack and a padded floor.

 

“Are we disrobing for this affair?” Damian wondered out loud, eyeballing Tim’s long black cloak hoodie dubiously.

 

Clark moved back against the wall. “Not necessarily. This isn’t an official training session. Although I would hope there will be no maiming. Damian.”

 

Damian raised his dark brows and crossed his arms over his chest, not bothering to respond as he stared at Tim once again with his penetrating gaze.

 

Tim ignored Damian at first as his even-eyed gaze swept the room, taking in the weapons that would potentially be available for him to use. He moved to the wall and took his coat off since it would give him better movement; a small difference when paired against a man who would no doubt win within seconds, but a difference he took advantage of nonetheless.

 

He absently folded his long hoodie and set it on the floor before he turned back to Clark and Damian. He was left in his typical all black outfit; a long-sleeved lightweight black shirt, black pants, and black combat boots that were scuffed with age, the same as his coat. He met Damian’s eyes evenly for a moment before shifting over to Clark.

 

“What are the parameters for this?” He didn’t look away from Clark, although he did tilt his head minutely toward the weapons rack. “Are weapons involved?”

 

“If you want to use one, by all means.”

 

Damian didn’t even give the weapons wall a glance. He was fiddling absently with a loose string at the edge of his frayed shirt, eyes still on Tim.

 

Tim nodded slightly at Clark and turned his gaze onto Damian. For the first time since they’d met, he put all his focus on the other man. He studied the way Damian held himself, looking with his still amateur eye for any signs of weakness. There were none that he could see.

 

Given the fact that Damian seemed uninterested in weapons, he was clearly going to use hand-to-hand combat, which fell in line with what Tim knew of him. It would be foolish and for pride alone that Tim would go into the fight without a weapon. Since he was feeling neither prideful nor foolish, he turned and walked to the racks of weapons.

 

He had his choice of just about anything. He naturally shied away from all the knives without having to think about it. Other weapons would require skill he hadn’t perfected yet, like nunchucks that he would be more likely to hit himself with than the enemy. He gravitated toward the blunt weapon and the ones he’d so far shown the most affinity for: the bo staff. He liked it because it worked well in defense, for protecting his arms and body, and could easily switch to effective.

 

He held the staff with both hands, the comfort of the length of the staff along his forearms, and he walked back over, stopping once he was in front of Damian.

 

There was no official start to the spar; one moment they were three people standing in a room and the next it was two sparring with a spectator to the side. Damian dropped into a fighting stance, watching Tim with those luminous green eyes that didn’t seem to miss even the barest of movements. For his part, Tim scrutinized Damian’s stance before he moved in for an attack.

 

It started with quick, darting movements on Tim’s part. Although he’d been training for a few months and had significantly improved upon where he’d started, he’d started without any experience at all. His build was not one that lent itself easily to heavy muscles and so what he had at most was a toned body. However, he made up for that in speed. He was quick and light on his feet and had found a certain skill in dodging and escaping. There was no brute strength in any of his attacks; rather, he tended to use what resources he had intelligently.

 

He started by striking at the main spaces that made a person falter; key joints and Damian’s throat and face. From there he attempted the vulnerable spots on the torso where organs lay beneath that could be bruised or ruptured. He even tried to get Damian in the groin because Slade had taught Tim to be brutal if need be, as the enemy would do the same in return.

 

In this case, Damian didn’t have to.

 

He danced around Tim maddeningly, a leaf just out of reach that tumbled on the wind. He let Tim strike but he deflected easily, with no more effort than it took to swat a fly. When Tim started putting more strength into his strikes and Damian stopped them, he could feel the powerful strength of the other man as it rebounded up the staff and into his arms. Damian had the steadiness and strength of a mountain combined with the speed of a predator and although Tim had known before this he knew for certain now:

 

This was a man who could kill him. Easily.

 

Despite that, and despite Damian’s reputation as a bloodthirsty psychopath, he didn’t actually appear to be trying to harm Tim during most of the fight. It was a strange contradiction and something that caught Tim’s attention early in the sparring.

 

It would have been easy for Damian to hurt him and make it seem like an accident or Tim’s incompetence, and Damian clearly hadn’t hesitated to eliminate his previous partners. So why wasn’t he being more ruthless? Was it only because he was trying to follow the rules this time? Or was there another reason?

 

Tim didn’t know the answer to the questions and for the moment he largely ignored them. Still, even when he tried to dismiss the contradiction as a pointless distinction, it tickled the back of his mind.

 

They moved around each other in the subtle dance of a fight. Tim kept his staff flipped back against his forearms for protection when he would hop back, his icy blue eyes completely serious and constantly searching for any sign of weakness or any falter.

 

The staff made whirring noises as it sliced through the air, a blur that flickered between the two agents. When it became apparent that was going to get nowhere, Tim’s eyes narrowed faintly.

 

He went at Damian again, striking while trying not to project ahead of time his intentions. Still, Damian’s eyes were faster than Tim’s muscles; he always seemed to know just in time what Tim intended and how to stop it.

 

Tim tried to strike at Damian’s knee and Damian moved to the side. Tim tried to move behind him to slam him in the back, aiming for the kidneys, and Damian spun away. Sometimes he didn’t even appear to be focusing entirely on the fight. Even so, his reactions were immediate and he deflected with effortless grace.

 

Soon, Tim was trying double strikes; staff extended, swiping at Damian one end after another, trying to catch him off guard. He could feel the impacts of hitting Damian’s defenses all the way up to his shoulders and although Tim had good stamina, he could feel the fight wearing at his body. A river of exhaustion and futility ate away at the granite of his mind.

 

As a sheen of sweat started to show on his skin, semi-long dark strands began to catch at the sides of his face and on his lips. With both his hands occupied he couldn’t do anything about it and it soon became a nuisance, making him wish he’d tied his hair back or cut it short.

 

The long-sleeved black shirt was stifling despite the light weight of it and it too clung in places to his thin frame. His boots seemed heavy and he thought about how he should have removed the extra weight prior to going into this.

 

Then again, he hadn’t expected it to last this long. He tried his best to find some hole in Damian’s defenses but they were flawless and more than anything the younger man seemed to be studying him. A hunter watching prey or a child playing with a toy, it was hard to tell.

 

Every harsh release of breath as Tim struck, every knee-wrenching stop, every twist to the side and maneuver away, they watched each other closely. Two stares scrutinizing the other; Tim’s cool and collected, and Damian’s penetrating and unreadable.

 

Tim didn’t know how much time passed with the routine of Damian avoiding and deflecting everything he did, but analytically it seemed like at most a few minutes and, for his confidence, it felt like hours. He was just thinking it was a good thing he didn’t go into this seriously thinking he’d win or he may have lost all hope, when Damian broke the routine.

 

Fast as a snake unfurling itself and striking, one moment Damian was watching Tim with the same nearly bored expression as before, and the next Tim felt a violent twist on his right arm.

 

He couldn’t hold onto the staff before Damian wrenched it away to clatter and nearly hit Clark’s feet. Tim tried to dive for it as defense but Damian was too fast;

 

Tim’s arm had barely started to move before Damian reached over to snap his weapon away.

 

Tim tried to hold on but the angle at which Damian attacked him made it impossible and he abruptly released the staff, hoping to distract Damian while he moved to strike at his face. He was aiming for his throat, wanting to cut off his breathing, but Damian moved nearly faster than the eye. It was an impossible speed for a man who had impossible strength packed into his lanky frame.

 

Tim’s arms were jarred to the side and before he could do anything, a large hand snapped around his throat and lifted. Tim felt his body leave the floor, his feet hanging and entire body dragging down on the one point. It made his head pound and throat close even more from the pressure of gravity. When Damian squeezed, his windpipe was almost entirely cut off.

 

Breath left him in a painful, clawing rush that his body automatically fought against. His chest strained for air, his lungs dragging out against a near vacuum. His mouth could have fallen open; he could have kicked viciously at Damian and struggled like a worm trying to dislodge a fish hook. He could have clawed at the hands around his throat and he could have stared in desperation and fear down into Damian’s eyes.

 

But he _didn’t_.

 

His mouth was open no further than it had been before and though he still tried to draw breath in, the minute trickle of air Damian was allowing him was not nearly enough.

 

Still, he didn’t panic. His eyes were even as he stared down at Damian, his legs and arms loose. He couldn’t stop the automatic reactions of his body, the straining chest and pounding heart, the little nibble of uncertainty that ran in the back of his mind that asked: _Is this it? Will I die here?_

 

But the eyes that met Damian’s showed no fear.

 

As if to test what he saw, Damian’s hand squeezed, completely cutting off all of Tim’s breath, not even allowing the minute amount of air as before. Although Tim’s hands automatically twitched and his lungs automatically screamed for air, he otherwise remained motionless.

 

He understood that the idea of dying should be frightening but the feeling wasn’t there the way it should be. He stared at Damian, his vision slowly going black on the edges. He couldn’t ignore a thought that flashed through his mind: _Would it all be better anyway if he wasn’t forced to continue existing? Was this simply the way it would end, with his mother nowhere around to stop it?_

 

Damian looked up at Tim from where he dangled limply and tilted his head slightly to the side. His toxic green eyes narrowed and his full mouth twisted up slightly in a way that wasn’t quite a smile. There was a challenge in his eyes and the dark smirk on his mouth twisted further when his fingers dug in harder. Their eyes remained locked, positions unchanged and Tim suffocating in grim silence until Clark’s voice cracked out like a whip.

 

“Damian. _Enough_.”

 

Damian’s hand abruptly opened and he allowed Tim to fall to the floor like a discarded rag doll. Tim caught himself with painful jars against his arms and pushed himself up to a stand. He coughed, dragging in deep breaths. His head pounded painfully. Damian’s eyes remained fixed on the older teenager for a long stretch before he shrugged and looked over at the General.

 

“I suppose he isn’t entirely without skill. He’s possibly better than the average new field agent,” Damian commented tonelessly.

 

Tim concentrated on steadying his breath. In the back of his mind he wondered whether Damian would have really killed him had Clark not been there. He doubted it, since it would have sent the man straight back to a place he didn’t want to be. But he couldn’t be certain, as there had been nothing in those green eyes to tell him what Damian had truly been thinking.

 

When Tim could draw in a breath without feeling like it was more effort than it should be, he fully straightened and looked at the other two.

 

“Good work,” Clark said, appearing genuine. His lips were set in a pleased smile and he nodded at Tim. “There was no expectation that you would actually defeat him. On the contrary, you exceeded my expectations as far as your skill with the weapon. Slade was correct in saying that you learned quickly. I think you would have been a good match for the average agent.”

 

Tim nodded his acknowledgment, feeling somewhat pleased by that.

 

“How well do you understand your role in the unit?” Clark queried after a moment. He was watching Tim in an analytical way, as if he was adding this new bit of information into what was already filed into his head.

 

Tim studied Clark, trying to determine how to answer. When he spoke, his voice was rough from the abuse of his throat.

 

“I understand I’ll primarily be a counterpoint to Agent Wayne to ensure the smooth execution of missions and that the League remains secret. Judging by training, it seems I’ll also be expected to adequately defend myself, be capable of basic to intermediate offenses, negotiate on behalf of an entity which I assume is the League or your unit, have a basic understanding of how to infiltrate an area undetected, and deceive others in a convincing manner.”

 

“Good.” Clark looked at Tim before turning his gaze sidelong at Damian.

 

“Right now you are considered largely a glorified babysitter. However if you play your role well, I guarantee that you could become more than that. I see potential in you. But keep in mind, your success or failure depends entirely on your partnership with Damian. That is your starting point. That is why you are here. Don’t forget that. His previous partners did and they paid for it.”

 

Damian shrugged at the comment but neither man said more than that on the topic of Damian’s former, and now deceased, partners.

 

“The only way a partnership can be successful,” the General added after a brief pause, “is by trusting one another, which is –”

 

“A big fucking stretch at this junction in my career,” Damian said dully, raising an eyebrow at his commanding officer skeptically.

 

“– not going to be something that comes quickly,” Clark spoke over him. “But the relationship that develops between the two of you will determine how this plays out. If you don’t get along, you will both fail. And I am sure neither of you desires failure for your own very different reasons.”

 

Neither of them answered but Clark didn’t seem surprised. In the end, what he said was the truth. And regardless of how well they would or would not get along, Tim suspected that neither of them wanted to see the consequences of failure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P/S: Just my personal preference but DamiTim can't be DamiTim without the whole 'trying to murder you' thing.
> 
> **Next chapter:**
> 
> Tim raised an eyebrow. “Who said I would want you to?” He looked back at the road but his attention was on Damian. “And for the record, having normal reactions to the cold does not make me inferior or weak as you seem to be implying. Perhaps it is you who would need help were we stranded. You could be at risk for hypothermia.”
> 
> “I've survived a winter in Siberia when I was nine.”
> 
> “What were you doing in a Siberian winter at nine years old?” Tim asked dubiously.
> 
> “Searching for Santa Claus.”


	6. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Developments, people. We finally have a _moment_. Hey, gotta love the cliché sometimes, you know. They are popular for a reason. You will know when you reach that part. *winks*
> 
> Thank you for your support. They mean a lot to me and while I'm not completely satisfied with this product, I want to post it still. I hope that it's still... acceptable. I wanna get to the good part, too but I promise all this setup will contribute to the plot! Just wait for it, you guys will probably scream on chapter 11. I'm fairly certain.

 

The walk down the hall of weaponry was silent for Tim. He glanced at up at the label of each room that he walked by, searching for the one room that held his preferred blunt weapons. Currently, he was standing in front of ‘Artillery’. Even though there were quite a number of people walking around, he didn’t bother to stop any of them to ask for directions. The rooms were labeled well enough and it was just a matter of searching for the right one.

 

Tim had finished his training a while back and this was his first official mission. As such, everything was new to him in a way it shouldn’t be with a normal level 9 agent. Yet, Tim found himself resistant to the idea of asking unnecessary question. His fingers curled around the comm unit he had been given at check-in, his thumb absently traced the intricate design.

 

It was early morning but a person would never know it down here, underground with no windows. Tim had learned that the typical procedure for a mission included a briefing with the unit, followed by a visit to the arsenal to arm himself. The building had been innocuous enough from the outside and when he’d walked in to discover a modern-looking lobby with clean lines and a pleasant feel, he hadn’t been surprised.

 

Nothing was what it seemed at the League; a lesson he’d learned quickly.

 

He’d already been given the remote to control Damian’s collar, although he didn’t see the need for him to have it and had no intentions of using it. After that, when he’d checked in with the staff at the desk, they’d given him a miniature microphone and ear bud set that they called a comm unit. He’d been told that the comm unit was standard equipment for all agents but that if he needed something more sophisticated he could find it downstairs.

 

The entire set was very discreet. The ear bud was nothing more than a thin flat disc that would be nearly invisible when put on and would be hidden beneath the fall of his black hair. The wireless microphone came in a variety of types but the default was a small pin that would be easy to clip on clothing and hide. He could turn the transmitter on and off at his convenience but he’d been told that typically on missions with a partner the transmitters were left on unless it would be a distraction. Whatever the case, he didn’t see any need for anything more sophisticated so he didn’t bother looking.

 

With the amount of information he’d been absorbing in the past few days, additional learning about unnecessary equipment was not something he was interested in pursuing. The information he had been expected to memorize regarding the unit was more than enough to keep him fully occupied.

 

The insurgent groups that orbited the Court, as Clark had put it, had turned out to number in the hundreds. Not all were relevant anymore but they were all related in some way and he was expected to learn the key players of all groups, even ones that had been defunct for some time. He’d been given a palm sized touch screen panel at his first meeting with hundreds of pages of data that he’d managed to get himself acquainted with in the few days that had passed since he’d met the other members of the unit.

 

The current mission’s targets were members of faction 53, also known as Holistic Integration for Viral Equality or H.I.V.E. It was currently headed by a woman whose name was unknown but she nicknamed herself ‘Queen Bee’. She had built the group from the ground up with another man, Jeremial Aarons, who had since left the faction. It seemed fairly frequent that leaders were usurped or loyalties changed in these small factions. It was another reason the League assigned numbers; sometimes the new leaders changed the name entirely even though the same people were in it.

 

Damian hadn’t shown at the briefing which hadn’t seemed to be a big surprise to anyone but certainly hadn’t put General Clark in a good mood. As a result, Tim had been the only one to be told the mission overview.

 

The objective was for them to infiltrate an abandoned building that a fraction of 53’s members was using as a safe house. Newly gained Intel alleged that information regarding the location of 53’s main base would be found inside and they were expected to retrieve it.

 

As such, he figured he probably would want a weapon of some sort and planned to get one of his preferred types. When he found the ‘ _blunt weapons_ ’ section, he was satisfied to find expandable bo staff like he often used though in a lighter weight version than what he was used to. No matter, it still carried the same strength.

 

He looked around at a few other rooms to see if he needed anything else and in the process walked past what appeared to be the main area where guns were stored.

 

The walls were lined with sophisticated displays for more pistols, rifles and shotguns than he’d even known existed but that wasn’t what made him slow down and head into the room. Instead, it was Damian’s unmistakable figure clad in a black long sleeved t-shirt and his usual frayed black cargo pants. He half turned away from the door as he surveyed his options.

 

Tim walked over and stopped near Damian’s side, idly turning his attention to see what Damian was looking at. He didn’t know the precise name of the model but it appeared to be a .45 ACP of some kind.

 

Damian examined the gun and cocked it, appearing to not even acknowledge Tim’s existence. It was a fact that was undermined when Damian said without looking over, “That’s it?”

 

“What else is needed?”

 

“If there’s a gunfight, I suppose you could always throw it like a spear and hope it takes out multiple shooters,” Damian replied with complete disinterest in his tone. He walked away from Tim without waiting for an answer and began surveying the rest of the weapons although he continued to hold the .45.

 

Tim idly looked at the selection in front of him. It was a fair point.

 

He picked up a 9mm, expression neutral as he studied it. When it came down to it, though, he wasn’t particularly comfortable with guns and he was still perfecting his aim. The gun would simply be a hindrance that could also be stolen and used against him. And if it came to needing one in a theoretical gunfight he could obtain one there.

 

No doubt he could steal one on location or from one of the hostiles. Ultimately, he set the gun down, deciding the potential inconvenience outweighed the potential convenience. He turned to look where Damian was to see if was ready.

 

Damian just raised his dark eyebrows and made no comment although his full mouth crooked up very slightly at the side. His gave Tim a brief once over and turned back to what he’d been doing, collecting ammunition for what Tim now saw was a .45 Ruger.

 

Tim watched Damian, trying to determine what he was thinking. Perhaps he thought Tim wouldn’t last long without a gun or without taking his advice. It was hard to tell and that was what made Tim watch him just a little longer than he normally would. He didn’t particularly like that he couldn’t discern Damian’s thoughts. He preferred to have a good idea of what the people around him were thinking, especially in a situation like this.

 

Although he wondered, he didn’t ask. He simply stood to the side waiting for him to finish.

 

He couldn’t tell if Damian always chose his weapons this carefully or if he was just taking his time for no particular reason. Perhaps he felt no urgency about the mission parameters which was likely since he didn’t know them. Or perhaps he was hoping to irritate Tim.

 

Another agent entered the room, a tall Asian man with bleached blond hair. His eyes swept the area and as soon as they fell on Damian, the man did an about face and left.

 

Damian’s reputation certainly preceded him in every case on the compound. He’d been turned away from the other man so it couldn’t even be a case of his glare and intimidating aura warding the agent away. In fact, Damian was remarkably thin-looking compared to the muscular field agents that Tim frequently saw. His face looked young and his clothes were obviously fraying and poorly sized. With the permanent scowl on his face, he looked like a very cranky teenager.

 

There was nothing overtly frightening about Damian that would be obvious from such a quick glance, but still the agent had fled. It was an interesting phenomenon.

 

Damian finally finished gathering his equipment and when he turned to Tim, there was a darkly amused expression on his striking face.

 

“I’m fully at your disposal.” His spoken words laced with hidden mockery. Tim didn’t rise to the bait.

 

The older agent nodded and left the room without speaking. Damian wasn’t far behind him and the two of them stopped briefly at the checkout point on the main exit. After that, it didn’t take terribly long to get to the garage where they got a vehicle. Tim automatically took the driver’s seat and soon they were on their way. It wasn’t until they were in the car that Tim finally bothered to fill Damian in on what the mission was even about, since the older man hadn’t asked yet.

 

“We are to infiltrate a building with people from faction 53 and retrieve information about the main headquarters for purposes of a follow-up mission,” Tim said calmly after they passed the check-out point at the gate and drove away from the League.

 

“Exhilarating.”

 

Tim fell silent briefly. He slowed to a stop at a red light and looked over. Damian was looking out the window and Tim couldn’t see much of his face. He could tell from Damian’s clothes and the way he was sitting that he wasn’t wearing any sort of armor, not even a bulletproof vest or bodysuit.

 

It seemed odd to Tim. Was Damian that confident or was he simply arrogant? Did he know something Tim didn’t? Why wouldn’t he use anything at all when he’d been the one to bring up the idea of a gunfight? It would seem that one would want to have protection just in case. Tim was wearing a bulletproof bodysuit himself, beneath his clothes and the fall of his trench coat.

 

Without the driving to distract him, he found himself noting that it was the first time they were alone together. The windows were rolled up and without the radio on, it was silent except for the muffled sounds of the car itself and any quiet shifting of their clothing.

 

He watched Damian out of the corner of his eye, trying to get a feel for the younger man. He couldn’t decide if Damian simply didn’t have any particularly deep or moving thoughts when he was silent, or whether he was hiding everything from everyone around him. Tim suspected that Damian was simply guarding any of his thoughts from outsiders but if that was the case, what was he thinking? Did he expect that Tim would be dead by the end of the day? No one seemed to have much hope of any of Damian’s partners lasting indefinitely and Tim had to wonder how transitory this seemed to Damian.

 

With such close quarters, other details stood out to him. Damian seemed freshly bathed; Tim could faintly smell some sort of body wash or shampoo that lingered on him. It smelled like… _coconut_. It was one more detail that seemed just so slightly in discord with the man’s reputation.

 

Tim had to wonder how much of it was orchestrated to throw people off, or whether Damian simply didn’t realize or care what varied impressions he gave others. And if that was the case, were these bits of some other aspect of Damian’s personality that were showing through or did Damian grab whatever was available and didn’t put any thought into any of it?

 

The questions ran through Tim’s mind for a few moments before his eyes narrowed faintly and he looked away completely, out the driver’s side window while he waited for the light to turn green. It irked him that he was wondering any of this in the first place. He didn’t care whether Damian liked _coconuts_ or not, yet the fact that he couldn’t get a grasp on the other’s motivations even when he put effort toward that goal served to provoke him into analyzing everything.

 

The light turned green and Tim turned his attention to driving again. He hadn’t determined an answer to any of the oddities Damian represented and it was mildly vexing.

 

Without warning, Damian leaned well into his personal space. The motion was abrupt and nearly alarming but it turned out that Damian was merely reaching over to turn the heat down low enough to be completely useless.

 

“What are you doing?” Tim asked, distracted by Damian and the already cooling air. “It’s cold.” He reached out to turn the heat back to its original setting.

 

“I thought you weren’t as delicate as you look,” Damian replied blandly and smacked Tim’s hand.

 

Tim’s eyes narrowed faintly and shifted over to Damian. He couldn’t believe the supposed _senior_ agent had just smacked his hand like a spoiled child. “Turn the vents away from you, then. Not all of us are apparently frost-bitten across our entire bodies.” He flicked his gaze along Damian’s attire, which was entirely too thin for the cold, and reached to turn up the heat again.

 

“What would you do if we became stranded and had to camp out?” Damian wondered, resting his head against the window and regarding Tim. “I will certainly not share my body heat.”

 

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Who said I would want you to?” He looked back at the road but his attention was on Damian. “And for the record, having normal reactions to the cold does not make me inferior or weak as you seem to be implying. Perhaps it is you who would need help were we stranded. You could be at risk for hypothermia.”

 

“I’ve survived a winter in Siberia when I was nine.”

 

“What were you doing in a Siberian winter at nine years old?” Tim asked dubiously.

 

“Searching for Santa Claus.”

 

Tim shook his head but was unsurprised by the answer.

 

Damian flicked the slats to his vents down with a decisive click and went back to looking out the window.

 

Feeling a tiny sense of victory at that, Tim didn’t stop the briefest hint of satisfaction in his eyes. It was silly, yet this showed him that Damian wouldn’t necessarily win everything. Even if it was a disagreement over something so minor that it didn’t matter anyway.

 

* * *

 

They fell into mutual silence and Tim continued to half pay attention to Damian even as he absently navigated through the city. His mind turned toward the mission ahead of them and he realized they hadn’t finished discussing it. Since Damian had been interacting on some level, Tim thought it may not be a bad idea to attempt to bring it up again.

 

“Regarding the mission, we don’t have blueprints of the building so the layout will have to be determined upon arrival,” Tim continued as if the incident with the heater hadn’t broken up the conversation.

 

“Number of hostiles expected?” Damian didn’t sound particularly interested in the information. His face remained turned, eyes likely focused on the shattered city that Tim was navigating through.

 

Although ground zero of the main attack had missed the city center, portable explosive devices had erupted inside not too long after. Even now, decades later, only certain districts had been fully restored. Other areas had turned into havens of crime, poverty and were policed vehemently by the authorities.

 

“Twenty,” Tim replied.

 

He started to slow at another red light when he noticed Damian leaning in toward the passenger window, opening his mouth and breathing on it so fog curled against the glass. Despite the fact that it was April, the ever present cloud coverage prevented any sunrays from warming the Earth. It may as well have been January.

 

It was such a child-like thing for Damian to do that it distracted Tim and he looked over. He never would have expected to see the man known as a psychopathic assassin did something a ten-year-old would do. The impression only grew when Damian reached up with one long finger and started drawing on the window.

 

Tim automatically looked at the lines to see what Damian would even draw. He couldn’t make anything out immediately so he started to respond. “It’s expec –”

 

He cut himself off when through the lines Damian was drawing he saw the sign on the building near them.

 

_First Bank._

 

Tim hit the brakes harder than he’d intended, rocking the car faintly as they came to an abrupt halt at the light. His eyes widened and his face turned ashen, making his pale skin look even more washed out next to his black hair.

 

His gaze automatically darted around. The street sign on the corner, proclaiming Dauphin Street. The half broken buildings. The alleyway and the relative obscurity of the place –

 

_The sickening spray of blood, hot against his face. Screams that choked off with a gurgle and pavement grinding against his skin. Heaviness on his back and that desperate, clawing terror –_

 

His breath hissed out of him and he looked away from the bank, from that terrible moment caught in time. It was so much more vivid than it had been for a while. It hit him hard; so intense that he could almost feel the stickiness of _dripping blood_ –

 

He was taken completely off guard. For a moment he was overtaken by the strength of it all. Briefly, so very briefly, he forgot where he was; who he was with. He felt breathless. How had he gotten here? How could he have driven this way –

 

“And suddenly you look quite taken aback,” Damian’s voice noted when the moment stretched. He had looked at Tim after the abrupt stop and his vivid colored eyes continued to watch his trial partner as he spoke.

 

“What?” Tim’s voice sounded distant even to him.

 

Tim didn’t look over, wouldn’t look anywhere near that building again, but he didn’t know where else to look. Nowhere was safe on this street. His mind hadn’t quite caught up to the moment. His face was still pale and his fingers were tighter on the steering wheel than necessary.

 

“Oh look, the light is green again.”

 

Tim looked up, grasping at some sense of normalcy. He was relieved to see the green light shining down at him. He eased off the brake and started driving again, making sure not to look anywhere other than straight ahead. As the car moved inexorably further from that street, he realized his heart had been pounding and only now was starting to slow.

 

He felt confused and off-balanced. As soon as that sign was gone, as soon as the building was no longer there as a monolithic reminder, he could feel the weight of it leaving him and the fuzziness starting to slide back in to take its place. The shakiness of his scattered thoughts was given the chance to start realigning. Any bits of curiosity he’d felt before had blown away in the face of that innocuous sign.

 

“What would your mother say?” Damian wondered out loud, his voice full of fake scandal. “Bringing attention to our fancy League issue car in the middle of one of the most rundown parts of the city; Of course if a police officer did stop us they’d turn back around as soon as they saw the plates which take us so far out of their jurisdiction that they wouldn’t know who to contact. But even so, screeching to a halt wasn’t exactly full of discretion.”

 

Tim barely heard most of what Damian said. His mind was sidelined by the offhanded, _what would your mother say?_ His fingers tightened on the steering wheel and his eyes narrowed, his expression doggedly turning neutral again although the color had not fully returned to his face.

 

He pointedly did everything he could to not think about what she might do. He forced every stray thought down where it wouldn’t bother him anymore.

 

“Maybe you’re having a panic attack,” Damian wondered aloud. “We can always turn back, you know. They’ll understand.”

 

“No,” Tim said sharply before he could stop himself. His eyes narrowed and his expression closed off completely. Any vestigial emotions that had been there disappeared as if they’d never existed.

 

He hadn’t intended it to sound so forceful, yet the very idea of turning back, of standing in front of his mother and telling her he’d never actually made it to their destination because he’d ended up on Dauphin Street along the way... His back was tight with tension at the thought.

 

“It may be for the best. I just can’t be certain of your mental or physical state with such sudden attacks occurring at random.”

 

The bland commentary was starting to vex Tim, who was still trying to return to the safe equilibrium of an unfeeling mind. He let out a low breath to calm his nerves and looked at Damian with a firm, even stare. A look that was meant to assure Damian that he was fully in control again.

 

“It won’t happen again.”

 

“Maybe.” Once again, Damian’s expression was difficult to read. On one hand he looked amused by the situation but on the other hand, it could be that the amusement was a front for something far more devious and manipulative. “How could I be sure unless you tell me what the problem is?”

 

Tim’s expression didn’t shift, although his eyes narrowed faintly. “The reason is unimportant and does not concern you. They did a full evaluation of me during training. They would not have sent me off as your trial partner if I could conceivably pose any type of threat to you.”

 

“Believe me, _beloved_ , I feel anything _but_ threatened.” Damian stared at him, hawk-like gaze taking in every minute detail of Tim. “But how could such a seemingly innocuous area produce such a strong reaction in a boy who appears to pride himself on showing nothing? There wasn’t a soul in the street except for the usual beggars. Would you like me to describe the extent of your reaction?”

 

Tim’s eyebrows ticked down and he looked away, staring out the windshield with a studiously blank expression. He wished Damian would leave the topic alone. “That won’t be necessary.”

 

“Are you sure? It was quite visceral. If any other agent were here they would likely be concerned about taking a trial recruit who was obviously having some kind of emotional issue into a red zone.”

 

“Leave it _alone,_ ” Tim said with a stronger edge, looking over at Damian with a warning in his eyes. He was getting frustrated by the conversation and the fact that Damian wouldn’t let it go. Frustrated that he couldn’t cope the way it had always worked best for him: by pushing it to the side and ignoring it.

 

“There is no ‘ _emotional issue_ ’,” Tim continued firmly. “If you would stop focusing on unimportant minutiae, we could prepare ourselves better for the mission. At this rate, you’re more distracted by any of this than I am.”

 

Damian scoffed at that. “Actually, having a half-trained newbie freak out before a mission and refuse to explain why warrants me calling in an early abort. They prefer that to a mission failed.”

 

Tim shook his head, his jaw set while he leveled a sharp-eyed stare that bordered on a glare at the road. “Do what you must but if the mission is aborted, it should not be on my account. I am perfectly capable of doing my part. Whether or not you feel entitled to information that is none of your business is not my concern. I assure you that none of this will affect the mission. That should be all that matters.”

 

“Oh, but it would be held on your account and even if you won’t deign to fill your partner in on your sudden stricken attacks of fear, you will have to fill in mother dearest.” Damian raised his eyebrows and leaned back against his seat. “She can figure out why her little _boy_ feels that he doesn’t have to answer to his senior agent. If I were someone who actually gave a shit about this mission, well, or any mission, you’d have trouble.”

 

Tim’s heart thumped at the thought of his mother finding out; of answering to her. He looked out the driver’s side window so Damian wouldn’t have a chance to see any vestiges of alarm that may make it to his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the tension in his shoulders and back. He was afraid of her finding out. If he let himself really think about it, he was terrified. He didn’t want to lose whatever tenuous chance he had at being worthy in her eyes, but more than that he didn’t want to see what she would do if she became displeased.

 

He didn’t know what to say to Damian.

 

He didn’t want to have to keep talking about First Bank, forcing him to continually dance around why the place had upset him in the first place. He wanted it all to disappear back into the fog he’d fought so hard to gain over the years. The deadened emptiness that had made it possible for him to be in that house, that bedroom, without terrible or longing memories suffocate him.

 

In the silence that dragged, it became obvious that he didn’t plan to answer. He instead focused solely on where he was headed. There weren’t really any other places in the city that would be as devastating to inadvertently pass as Dauphin Street, although at the moment he had to admit to himself he didn’t want to go anywhere near Crater Lake, either.

 

Tim worked on reorienting himself to their position. He saw the old Miller building up ahead and realized with frustration that he’d let Damian engage him in a conversation he didn’t even want to have, to the point that he hadn’t realized how close they were to the destination. They had less than five minutes before they would arrive and they hadn’t even discussed the plan yet.

 

“It would behoove us to have a plan prior to entering,” he said without looking away from the road. “And we’re nearly at our destination.”

 

Damian didn’t bother to respond, seeming to have already lost interest in Tim.

 

“We don’t know exactly where the information and the hostiles are within the building. However, if the building is like many of the others in the area it is likely to have two main exits; one in front and one off the alley. Given that many of the buildings in this area used to be for commercial use, it is also likely to have a number of rooms in the back which once functioned as offices while there would be a larger showroom or lobby in front.”

 

Tim’s expression was as impassive as his voice as he slowed the car at the last intersection before he had to turn onto the street that would take them to their target.

 

He stopped at a stop sign and since the street was abandoned and they were still a few blocks away from the target building, he turned to face Damian fully.

 

“Obviously this information will not be known until we enter. However, to speed the completion of the mission I suggest we split up, one entering at each entrance. If you have a preference for alley or street side entrance, you’re welcome to it. We’ll keep our comm units active and whoever is able to obtain the information first will alert the other. We can then both retreat and meet at the car.”

 

Damian flicked his gaze over to Tim, nodding. His full mouth stretched into a mockery of a smile and he inclined his head to Tim as if in deference to his plan.

 

Satisfied that there didn’t have to be a prolonged discussion about this, at least, Tim nodded. He drove them until they were a block away from the building and around the corner out of sight. He parked the car and then looked at Damian. “Is your comm on?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Tim shook his head at the noncommittal answer and quietly opened the door.

 

“I’ll see you back here,” he said calmly. Damian didn’t respond, which was unsurprising.

 

Tim shut the door and moved toward the alley without looking back.

 

He approached the building slowly from the side, making sure to keep an eye out for cameras or lookouts. It wasn’t the type of building that would have had cameras installed back when this area had been successful, prior to the war, and it appeared that the hostiles hadn’t installed their own system. He did see someone on the second floor with a shotgun, leaning against the window and peering down. It looked to be a light-skinned man in his mid-30’s but that was all Tim could tell.

 

He paused at the entrance to the alley and waited, watching the man. It seemed as though with so few people in the building, there weren’t enough people to fully man all the positions. Or so he assumed when he saw the hostile yawn tiredly and, after another scrutinizing look into the alley, the man walked away. Tim could see his figure faintly appearing and disappearing in the windows along the second floor as he headed toward the front.

 

Tim waited again, searching for any less telltale signs that someone was watching, and he only moved forward when he was satisfied no one was. He moved quickly and silently to the back door and ducked down behind a garbage dumpster, waiting again to ensure he hadn’t been seen.

 

After a few moments he slipped out from the hiding spot and moved to the door, peeking in. No one was inside within view. He tried the door and was unsurprised to find it locked. He pulled out a lock-picking set and he set to work on the lock. It didn’t take long before he heard the faint click of the tumblers shifting. He paused again, patiently waiting for any signs of discovery, and moved forward when he didn’t hear anything.

 

The door opened with only the faintest squeal which, after another long pause, he determined hadn’t attracted anyone’s attention. He shut the door quietly behind him and looked around. He was in a small area that in a house would have likely been termed a mudroom.

 

There was nothing in it but at one point it had probably held storage of some sort. Off the room was a back hallway that hadn’t been maintained in years. The floor was uneven and the walls had water damage trailing down what had probably once been white paint.

 

There were a few doors within view; two on each side and one at the end that he presumed opened up to a larger space in the front of the building. There also looked to be another hallway that intersected this one at the end. He moved along the wall, keeping an eye in front and behind him for anyone. A few of the doors were partially open and he headed to the first one on the right. He didn’t hear anyone inside and peeked in. The room was empty; literally. There was nothing inside at all, not even a single chair. Obviously the information wasn’t there so he went to the next room across the hall. That one housed a partially broken old desk. He searched through the room quickly and didn’t see anything of use.

 

He moved on to the next room with little result and was just about to head toward the fourth when he heard movement on the other side of the main door that he presumed went to some sort of lobby. He’d been half paying attention to his comm unit for any updates or warnings from Damian. He hadn’t heard anything at all, which he’d assumed meant Damian had not run into any problems yet. If Damian had gone in the front like planned, he should have run into people which would have made noise, and may have alerted Tim to the situation up there.

 

The lack of any situation updates had caused Tim to be completely unprepared when the door abruptly opened and four faction 53 hostiles walked in.

 

Tim’s eyes widened.

 

The new agent ducked back into the room immediately, his steps lightened by the quiet surge of adrenaline. He wasn’t fast enough to avoid being seen though. There was a shout of alarm and within seconds, the sounds of gunfire filled the hallway.

 

Kicking over a desk, Tim crouched low.

 

More people ran in, feet kicking up the layers of dust that had settled on the floor. They were talking but Tim couldn’t make out the words through the sudden _whooshing_ in his ears.

 

He peeked out cautiously.

 

BANG!

 

The piercing bullet flew past his ear, so close, Tim could feel the passing breeze.

 

Tim couldn’t help it. He flinched.

 

 _‘I could have died. It’s going to hurt.’_ Tim’s natural instinct cried out. He dimly remembered a lesson that Slade had taught him about the ‘Flinch’ but tried as hard as he might right now, nothing was coming to his mind. His brain gave in to instinct. His entire body ached with phantom pain. He licked his lips and tasted a droplet of sweat.

 

There were hostiles left and right, and from the briefest glance earlier, Tim knew he was surrounded. It would only be a matter of time before the enemies realized no one was shooting back and they would move in to execute him.

 

With the rain of bullets that was bombarding him right now, Tim briefly wondered how long it would take until the meager cover he’d managed to find was destroyed.

 

Apparently, he should have brought a gun after all.

 

“South hallway,” Tim whispered into the comm unit, his voice was steady despite his racing heart. “I need backup.”

 

He didn’t hear a response but he wasn’t expecting one.

 

The desk rocked slightly as more bullets embedded into its wooden surface. Tim wondered if he was going to die once the desk gave away. There were not a lot of hostiles but without a gun, Tim was essentially helpless.

 

When there weren’t any immediate signs of Damian showing up and when Tim heard the hostiles moving closer, his eyes narrowed and he tried to get as far away from their aim as possible. He heard the door open and a new voice enter the fray, barking orders above the gunfire for an update. It sounded like a man in charge had arrived.

 

Tim tried to listen. The _whooshing_ had passed and he could actually _understand_ the words now.

 

“… one intruder…”

 

“… no return gunfire yet…”

 

The words were self-explanatory. He was alone. One intruder. He had been alone since the beginning. However, just to be sure, Tim hissed, frustration dyed his voice. “ _Where_ are you? They have me cornered.”

 

There was no answer and this time, Tim knew there wouldn’t be one. Damian wasn’t in the building. He had probably never even _left_ the car. Tim couldn’t even be sure the man had bothered to turn on his comm unit, given his lackadaisical ‘sure’ earlier.

 

Anger and bitterness spread like poison beneath Tim’s skin. What gave the younger one the right to lecture him about the protocol of missions when he wasn’t even a _reliable_ partner?

 

The man in charge said loudly, “Cease fire! Stop wasting ammo!”

 

The gunfire stopped and Tim knew he was too outnumbered to successfully complete the mission. He could take on one or two people but not a whole group, even if they weren’t shooting at him.

 

Without any backup, he was forced to retreat. There was no other choice.

 

Pulling out a flash-bang grenade he had prepared beforehand in case he needed a distraction, Tim pulled the pin and threw it around the desk.

 

He immediately squeezed his eyes shut, turning away and plugging his ears. A cacophony of light and sound crashed through the small room and startled sounds of pain chorused around him.

 

He didn’t wait for them to recover. While their senses were still reeling, he ran to the old window. Tim slammed his elbow against the glass, listening to the sound as it shattered. The small, jagged pieces left on the windowsill dug into his hands as he hauled himself up and threw himself out the window. He hit the ground hard, falling into a roll. He’d barely stood when gunfire erupted from the second floor.

 

The lookout saw him.

 

His eyes narrowed as he dodged and weaved between obstacles that he used as cover, and managed to run back the way he’d come. He knew it would only be so long until the men inside recovered and came after him so he ran as fast as he could.

 

The League car was still there. Damian had turned away, and didn’t bother to even look over his shoulder at the sound of Tim’s running footsteps. It caused a renewal of Tim’s frustrated anger. He could have been killed in there, and the mission had failed, and Damian couldn’t even be bothered to act as though he’d noticed.

 

When Tim came up beside him he grabbed Damian’s shoulder roughly, already demanding, “What the hell were –”

 

Before he could process what was happening, his arm was wrenched violently and he was spun around and pinned against the side of the car. For the second time since they’d met, he found himself coming face to face with Damian as the other man locked his long fingers around Tim’s throat, cold skin pressed against his clammy one.

 

Green eyes narrowed as Damian looked at him darkly. His fingers flexed slightly, briefly cutting off his air as the senior agent leaned in closer. For a breath, they were nearly nose to nose as those intense eyes bore into Tim.

 

It was ridiculous how in that one single moment, all intelligent thoughts fled Tim’s brain and he could only lock eyes with the younger teen, lips parting slightly. But before he could dwell too much on it, the grip relaxed and Damian released him, allowing him to crumple against the side of the car.

 

“ _Do not put your hands on me._ ”

 

Tim caught himself before he could fall. He glared at Damian, anger flared up again, feeling more spurned by the reaction than afraid. He could hear the sounds of pursuit closing in on them, echoing faintly in the alley but growing louder. With a tightened jaw, he turned his back on Damian and stalked around the car, opening the door with more force than necessary.

 

He barely waited for Damian to get in the car too before he sped off down the street, the tires squealing in protest.

 

The high-pitched whip of bullets ricocheted off the pavement around them and he heard the dull thud of one of the shots catching the back of the car. They turned the corner and Tim twisted the steering wheel to immediately catch the next turn. In the rear view mirror he saw the hostiles swarming around the corner as they ran.

 

Cold frustration continued to stain Tim’s thoughts even after they’d made it another two blocks and it seemed evident that no one was planning to pursue them in a vehicle. He turned a sidelong, hard stare onto Damian.

 

“Don’t put your hands on _me_ like that, either,” he said flatly.

 

Damian didn’t bother to reply, once again looking completely disinterested in his existence.

 

Tim wasn’t ready to let this go though. “What the hell were you doing back there? Didn’t you have your comm unit on?”

 

“What do you think?”

 

Tim turned his narrowed eyes back to the road. He could feel tension settling into his shoulders as they grew closer to the League. “Why didn’t you even try? The mission failed and we’ll both be held accountable. Doesn’t that bother you?”

 

Damian raised his dark eyebrows slightly. “The mission didn’t need two people. Perhaps you should have brought a gun.”

 

“What difference would that have made against so many armed hostiles?” Tim retorted. He didn’t feel like acknowledging that Damian was right in any way when he was so irritated with him. “It may have helped but it wouldn’t have fixed everything.”

 

At that, Damian turned and actually looked at him directly. “My, my,” he drawled slowly, shaking his head. “Who exactly was it that trained you, out of curiosity? They should put termination down on their day calendar if you are their final rank 9 product.”

 

Tim’s glare turned icy and shifted back to the road. “Not all of us were born superhuman,” he said coldly. “It’s my first mission and I expected my partner to be where he said he would be. Apparently that was a mistake.”

 

“Relying on _anyone_ is a mistake. If you weren’t taught that, you are more misinformed and ridiculous than I thought. This mission was a joke. If you aren’t even capable of performing adequately on it, you won’t last much longer whether it’s me who snaps your neck or not.”

 

“Is that what you want? Another failed attempt at a partner to stain your record?”

 

Damian scoffed at that, green eyes moving over him scornfully before sliding away.

 

“Don’t speak as though you know anything about me. And this partnership will fail regardless, judging from what I’ve seen today. You have the amazing ability to be both arrogant and completely stupid simultaneously.”

 

“How am I stupid?” Tim asked with an edge.

 

“When have you shown intelligence?” was the flat retort. “No gun. The bizarre notion that you have superior knowledge on how to approach a mission. The assumption that withholding information from your partner and senior agent is acceptable. The even more ridiculous assumption that if anyone else was here, they would have allowed any of this to go on. If someone were here who actually gave a fuck about these missions, I assure you, they would have handed you your ass before calling in an abort and writing up a detailed report of your ineptitude.”

 

Tim’s fingers dug into the steering wheel. He couldn’t fully discount Damian’s points and that annoyed him even more, along with the reminder of what had happened on Dauphin Street.

 

“And you plan not to?” he challenged. “So far you’ve spent your time mocking me, ignoring me, or threatening to kill me. If you have such a problem with me I’d think you’d love the chance to tell your superiors.”

 

“You’ll die regardless. What’s the point?”

 

Tim looked at him sidelong. Without anything to respond, he let the moment fall into silence.

 

The rest of the ride felt at once too long and too short. When they returned, Damian walked away without a word and Tim went in and wrote the mission report alone.

 

* * *

 

There wasn’t a good way to word that he’d failed on his first mission so he was unsurprised when he was called up to his mother’s office within the hour after the report was submitted.

 

Barbara announced his presence and let him into Janet’s room, shutting the door behind him. He stood back by the door, his back straight and face expressionless, although he felt a worm of doubt inside him at the ice cold stare she leveled at him. It felt like she could see through him, right down to the depth of his soul, and she didn’t see anything worthwhile in the process.

 

“Sit down.” Her words were clipped.

 

Tim obeyed immediately. He walked further into the room and silently sat in the chair across the desk from her.

 

Her lips were thin and eyes narrowed. She sat forward, her fingers interwoven and clenched as they rested on the desk. “I had low expectations of you yet even I did not anticipate such a resounding failure. For once, you have _exceeded_ my expectation of you. I assure you, in this case, it is not a good thing.”

 

There was the briefest lull that told Tim he was supposed to respond. He felt the doubt expand into uncertainty. “Mother, I –”

 

“Inspector,” she corrected him shortly, her stare narrowing into a glare.

 

“Inspector,” he amended. “The situation was such that it required two people. I did request backup but I didn’t receive it.”

 

“A convenient explanation,” Janet said dismissively with a faint hint of disgust.

 

She leaned back and turned ice blue eyes on her laptop, typing a few short, quick keys with one hand and briefly glancing at whatever came up on screen. “You did not bring a gun on the mission.”

 

Tim hesitated the briefest moment before he agreed. “No.”

 

“Were you not advised to bring one prior to the mission?”

 

“I was,” Tim had to acknowledge.

 

“Was the reason for the recommendation not in case of a gunfight?”

 

“It was,” Tim replied tonelessly.

 

He watched her with no particular expression even though he had to wonder how she knew all this. Then again, she’d probably found out through checking the weaponry records and, if they had it, surveillance.

 

“And was a gunfight not what caused this catastrophic failure?”

 

“It was,” Tim replied, and forged ahead before she could say anything else. “However, it should be noted that even if I’d been armed with a gun I still would have been forced to retreat without backup. I was vastly outnumbered.”

 

“Ineptitude is not an acceptable excuse,” she said shortly. She turned to him, her hand moving away from the keyboard to rest on the desk. “What was the nature of your incident prior to the mission?”

 

Tim’s heart jolted and his stomach clenched with dread. There it was; the question he’d been fearing. His expression remained closed off, although tension moved into his back. “I don’t –”

 

“What could possibly have upset you to the point of causing a distraction?” she continued sharply.

 

He watched her evenly, not knowing what to say. If she knew about the incident she probably knew what it had been about. Still, he wondered how she knew. Damian obviously hadn’t written a report and he hadn’t said anything about it in his own.

 

She gave him an unimpressed look. “All League vehicles are equipped with surveillance. There is always a thorough investigation following a failed mission, in part because agents have been known to lie to obscure their own mistakes.” The last part was said pointedly.

 

Tim’s jaw twitched but he couldn’t say anything in response to that. Damian never had to write it in a report; Tim damned himself by just being in the car. No doubt if they had surveillance they also had GPS. There was no point in trying to pretend that the incident had happened anywhere other than by First Bank.

 

She waited a heartbeat for him to respond with excuses that never came.

 

Disappointment and distaste were clear in her eyes and she leaned back in her chair. “I was under the impression that you were past that. Are you so pathetic that you are incapable of ignoring something so irrelevant to the present? Must you continuously be so weak as to cause embarrassments?”

 

“I apologize, Inspector,” he said tonelessly, his stomach clenching at her words. “It will not happen again.”

 

“Are you so certain?” she asked coldly, arching her eyebrows. She leaned forward, her attention zeroing in on him intimidatingly. “I have my doubts that you are trustworthy in that regard. You have already proven yourself weak and susceptible in the past. I nominated you based upon the impression that you were suitably emotionless, yet you have proven already that you are incapable of success. It lends the question of what I should do with you.”

 

The words caused a spike of distress from deep down inside him; a guttural reaction that he couldn’t quite stop from making to his face. His skin paled and his eyebrows twitched down. He suspected a flash of fear made it to his eyes and the way her eyes narrowed told him it had.

 

“There are options available. We have facilities that would be ideal to give you an opportunity to recover from your lapse. Time need not be a factor. Is that what you wish?”

 

His breath caught briefly as he automatically thought back despite himself.

_Expanding darkness and eyes glinting in the corner. Wounded ghosts hovering over him and chafing pain. Screaming until the metallic taste of blood was familiar in this throat._

 

“No,” he said quietly.

 

“Then I suggest you put more effort into this or I will enact a solution that you will find to be very undesirable,” she said coolly. She arched an eyebrow. “Is that understood?”

 

“Yes, Inspector.”

 

“I am watching you,” she said, her tone only turning colder. “I will be quite disappointed if you continue to embarrass me. My reputation in part will be affected by your performance. If you are incompetent, it reflects poorly on me. I have worked too hard in this organization to have a child bring me disgrace simply because he is unwilling to function as expected. Do not make me regret the nomination.”

 

“I won’t, Inspector,” he said more quietly. He wanted to look away from her but he didn’t; her ice blue eyes seemed to suck him in. Or maybe it was simply that she had looked at him so infrequently in his life that he felt unwilling to look away first on the few times when she did.

 

She stared hard at him, scrutinizing every bit of him. His eyes, his expression, his body language, his posture... As if she were assessing him for some sort of test in which he didn’t know the criteria for passing. It was disconcerting.

 

At length, she leaned back and looked away from him, focusing on her laptop again.

 

“Dismissed,” she said curtly.

 

He left, a non-expression on his face even as he felt dread gnawing at him nauseatingly. He didn’t want her to have to follow through with the threat. He only hoped that it wasn’t tied in solely to failing missions but rather making certain he didn’t let his own weakness be the reason for the failure.

 

Even though he had to acknowledge that much of the failure of this mission was his own fault, he still felt somewhat angry with Damian. Although it was true he should have brought a gun, in truth it wouldn’t have mattered. There was no way he could have finished the mission on his own without any sort of distraction or backup. He’d been training for a few months to be an agent but a few months couldn’t create miracles.

 

It wasn’t surprising to have failed the first mission. In fact, Slade had told him the vast majority of people did. It was not uncommon at all and yet Tim was the sole person being blamed.

 

_How was it all his fault?_

 

The brief moment of fear on Dauphin Street hadn’t carried over into the mission.

 

He’d put it behind him so it shouldn’t have been used against him. It was frustrating. He had to acknowledge that some of his anger was tied into the fact that because of this, he could be sent to a fate he wanted to avoid at all costs.

 

His eyes narrowed faintly and as he strode out of the Tower, he made a vow to himself not to make a similar mistake again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next chapter:**
> 
>  
> 
> “I was observing.”
> 
> Tim looked over, absently tightening the belt across his lap. His eyebrows twitched down faintly. “Why?”
> 
> “To observe you.”
> 
> “Obviously," Tim said, feeling the familiar annoyance rose whenever he had to deal with Damian. Talking to him was like pulling teeth. “You didn't initially observe me, though. What changed?”
> 
> “I figured you'd be dead by now. It's surprising and I'm very _rarely_ surprised.”


	7. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys :D I am back! Exactly on schedule, too :D Don't have much to say in this chapter except the fact that Timmy is on his way to becoming a kickass agent ;) And also, I bet you will be very anxious for the next chapter. *grins evilly*
> 
> Thank you so much for your support. It means more to me than I can say :)

The guard shoved Tim forward harshly; large hands pushed the other forward without any concern for the male’s wellbeing. Tim stumbled into the dark cell; the momentum of the push caused his shoulder to hit the cement wall hard. His shackled hands rose in an attempt to balance himself but it was difficult with them being cuffed against his back. He somehow managed, just barely.

 

Tim glared at the guard who just glared back before slamming the door shut.

 

Alone in the darkness, Tim’s glare fell away. He slowly slid down, following the vertical drop of the wall until he lowered himself on the floor. His shoulder was throbbing now, the dull ache was distracting and unwanted. Tim shuffled awkwardly, ignoring the way his fingers dug into his back, letting his hair cover his face to mask his expression. His muscles were seizing from being handcuffed for too long and the right side of his face felt tender to the touch.

 

Tim stared at the ceiling blankly, considering his options.

 

Although Damian had accompanied him on the mission, he knew not to expect any reinforcement.

 

Even after a month, he didn’t trust Damian.

 

Despite his analyzing nature, Tim was still unable to figure out anything about the other agent. He had already concluded a great amount of the attitude Damian displayed was an act, but _exactly_ to what magnitude was still murky.

 

It unnerved him sometimes, this newfound inability to figure someone out. It took away some of his own power in the situation. Without Damian’s motivations being clear, he could always have the potential to be unpredictable which meant he could not be trusted. If or _when_ Damian decided that his interest in the partnership had waned, he could always end it on his own terms.

 

Tim supposed that he ought to be glad that so far, Damian had yet to show any signs of wanting to end this.

 

For the past month or so, the other agent remained as uncooperative as ever but Tim had spotted minor shifts in his attitude. Lately, it seemed to intrigue or at least amuse him to follow Tim’s progress. Tim wondered if what the amusement meant. Did it mean that Damian was mocking Tim for his ineptitude? Or did it amuse Damian that Tim had to carry on the missions practically on his own even when the missions were meant for two?

 

Whatever the reason was, at least the missions had been going a little bit more smoothly than before, in that he had been succeeding more than he’d been failing. Granted, a lot of that had to do with the nature of the missions in General Kent’s unit. So far, most of it had been centered on stealth, undercover work or Intel gathering; all things Tim excelled at due to his uncanny ability to spot patterns whereas people saw random things.

 

While Tim’s combat ability had improved rapidly since the first failed mission, he knew, realistically, that his luck would run out the first time they were assigned to storm a base. Until then, he had vowed to do his best and since his mother had not brought him in for another lecture, it seemed to be working. As long as he could continue down this path until the inevitable day he died, that was all he could hope for.

 

Still, this mission especially was one he didn’t want to fail. It was a follow-up, making up for his abysmal failure of a first mission. The small offshoot of faction 53 had relocated to a larger base in an abandoned recreation center in the middle of a park in Blüdhaven, the next city over. The goal of the mission remained the same: retrieve information with the intent of locating the main base. The difference was there were at least twice as many people here and they were more actively recruiting. And it was harder to infiltrate; a fact he’d known from the start but had been thoroughly underscored once he’d gotten captured.

 

Tim shifted and stretched his legs in front of him, trying for a more comfortable position. The concrete was cold even through his clothing and he wondered how long it would be until they came to interrogate him. No doubt they expected him to be terrified by now. He was wary and uncertain more than anything, although there was a tinge of fear involved in the unknown. His weapons were all taken from him and although he would be able to get free of the handcuffs, he wasn’t versed in fighting multiple hostiles at once even with his improved ability. So far, most of the training had been applied in missions where he had to spontaneously engage in abrupt, short combat, primarily on his way out.

 

He hadn’t been captured before and he didn’t know what to expect. Would they attempt to torture him? Would they simply kill him outright? What were their plans? How much did they know? Did any of them recognize him from the first botched mission? He hadn’t seen anyone he recognized but then he’d barely seen anyone on that first mission since he’d spent most of the time ducking and dodging. They, on the other hand, would have had a better chance to see him as he ran away.

 

Even if he got his hands free, what could he do if several of them came at him at once? What if they discovered he was free and just bound him again; better this time?

 

This situation created doubt in the back of his mind. It made him wonder if he was potentially in over his head, and whether this would end up failing. And what, exactly, the League would do if he failed two missions with the same goal. Would his mother follow through with her threat?

 

His eyes narrowed and he looked away, tension strong in his shoulders.

 

He needed a plan.

 

Disguising it as rolling the kinks out of his neck, Tim carefully looked around the room for any surveillance equipment; bright blue eyes took in the details of the small room. The room had probably once been a storage room of some sort since it wasn’t insulated. Faction 53 appeared to have retrofitted it so it would work better as a jail.

 

Unless faction 53 discovered how to hide cameras on a smooth concrete floor, metal door, or a single old pipe running across the ceiling near the door and brick walls, then he was currently not enough of a threat level to warrant supervision.

 

That was good. They distrusted him but, like most people who judged him based on his looks, they underestimated him. Since that worked to his advantage, it never bothered him when people did that.

 

Even knowing that he was unwatched, Tim shifted his weight against the wall and still held some pretense in case he was simply unaware of it. The hostiles had removed his weapons, but what they didn’t realize was that Tim held such blatant weapons as a gun and expandable bo-staff in a normal place like a belt holster for a reason. It deluded people into thinking that it was all he had. If he hid things, they would be more likely to do a thorough search, expecting him to be devious.

 

For instance, they left the safety pin inserted beneath the belt on the back of his coat, as well as the one behind a button at the top. And, secure in his seeming lack of strength and the fact they were throwing him into a cell, they’d used standard chain handcuffs. It took a little maneuvering to remove the safety pin from the belt, but he managed it after a few seconds of fumbling. He popped it open unseeingly, all the while watching the door for any signs of movement.

 

Finding the little hole near the lock on the handcuffs took some maneuvering, since he couldn’t see what he was doing. Eventually, he felt the pin give way and slide into the mechanism, between the cuff and the teeth. He shoved it in with his other thumb and, with more fumbling and shifting of the pin, the handcuff clicked open. He let that cuff hang open on his wrist and, being sure to keep his back against the wall to hide the movement, he popped open the other cuff the same way.

 

Sliding the safety pin back onto the inner part of his coat’s belt, he heard movement echoing down the hallway outside the room. He made sure the handcuffs were unlocked but still loose around his wrists so it wouldn’t be obvious he’d freed himself.

 

The door opened, a man standing in the doorway with two hostiles backing him up. They were fanned behind the man for cover and they had their guns drawn. As soon as they saw Tim sitting calmly against the far wall, arms behind his back and seemingly still under their control, they lowered their guns.

 

The man in front looked to be in his mid-forties, with dark brown hair and eyes that matched. He didn’t look away from Tim from the moment the door opened. His eyebrows rose a hint, his lips lifting on the edges.

 

He strode into the room and stopped in front of Tim, staring down at him while Tim simply stared up in return. The two guards left the door open but they didn’t move, watching with sharp eyes. Tim determined he would do best to bide his time for the moment.

 

“Stand up,” the man ordered.

 

Tim gazed unwaveringly in the other’s eyes, his lips pressed together tightly. He made no move to comply with the man’s order. The man looked like he had been expecting the response and without any warning, he kicked Tim’s stomach violently, using his entire weight behind the attack. Tim let out a choked cry, feeling his back hit the wall with a dull _thud_. Meaty fingers gripped a chunk of his hair and he was dragged to a stand.

 

He’d barely straightened when the hand switched to a tight hold around his throat. A fist slammed into his stomach where he had been kicked, causing the pain to flare hot red again.

 

Tim gritted his teeth and let out a pained moan; partially because it hurt but mostly because he knew the man expected it. He would do best to appear weak and non-threatening.

 

“I told you to stand up,” the man growled near Tim’s ear when Tim slouched forward.

 

The man hit Tim again a few times in quick succession, apparently intent on exerting his domination of the situation right away. Tim took the punches with pained gasps and made sure to slump in the man’s hold. At length, the man unceremoniously dropped him to the floor. Tim hit the cement with a groan and made sure to keep his hands tilted toward the wall.

 

He heard movement and slit his eyes in the direction of the door, watching through a messy fall of long black hair. One of the hostiles was looking at his watch with a frown and then peered down the hallway. A quiet and quick conversation passed between the guards and one of them started to pivot as if to leave.

 

“You gonna be okay, John?” the guard asked and the man in the cell nodded, looking down at Tim.

 

“No problem. Shouldn’t take me too long with this one.” ‘John’ said smugly.

 

The guard nodded and left. The one who stayed behind started to shut the door.

 

“I’ll be out here, then. Let me know when you’re done.”

 

John chuckled darkly and glanced over his shoulder. “What’s wrong? I thought you were over being squeamish.”

 

The guard just grimaced.

 

John smirked and turned back to Tim while the door swung shut behind him. He didn’t seem concerned with the idea of being stuck in a cell with Tim. But of course. It did not take a whole lot of courage to be unafraid of a defenseless man that was weaponless and shackled. Tim glared darkly.

 

“So,” John said with quirked eyebrows, looming over Tim who was curling on his side. “Who are you?”

 

Tim didn’t answer and John kicked him so hard in the stomach that his body hit the wall _again_. Pain exploded across his torso and arms and Tim coughed when he fell to the floor.

 

“I asked, who are you?” he repeated dangerously.

 

“James,” Tim wheezed, grimacing and using that to cover that he was watching John through his eyelashes, determining when he should strike. He thought it would be best to wait since the guard outside was mostly likely going to listen for trouble at first and, hearing none, would eventually relax.

 

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” John stepped closer, pushing Tim onto his back and pressing one heavy, booted foot on his stomach. The pressure was in the area he’d been punched and kicked; his bruised muscles ached sharply with the weight.

 

“But it wasn’t what I meant. What are you doing here?” he continued, staring down at Tim darkly.

 

Tim shook his head and didn’t answer.

 

John lifted his foot and slammed his heel down into Tim’s stomach. Tim gasped in pain.

 

“Are you going to make me repeat myself every time?”

 

Tim gritted his teeth and shook his head again, although he made it unclear as to whether he was responding to John’s question or just trying to deny the situation.

 

John smirked, seemingly pleased by Tim’s lack of cooperation.

 

“What’s your affiliation?” John demanded, punctuating his questions with quick kicks that didn’t let Tim catch his breath in between. “Who sent you? What are you doing here?”

 

When John paused, Tim coughed violently. The pain was sharp and distracting but he ignored it. He let himself fall on his side in a position that gave him some leverage. He calculated that enough time had probably passed. When he looked at John through his hair he judged by the man’s body language and expression that he felt fully in control and didn’t expect Tim to fight back.

 

Tim struck before John even knew what hit him. Bracing partially against the wall, Tim suddenly snapped his foot out, knocking John’s legs out from beneath him.

 

The larger man let out a startled noise and started to topple, and Tim was on him immediately. He flicked the handcuffs off his wrists and dropped on top of John, smothering John’s mouth with one hand so he couldn’t cry out.

 

John’s eyes widened for a fraction of a second but he immediately started to fight back, trying to throw Tim off him. Tim braced himself against the floor, flipping John over onto his stomach and cinching the handcuffs tightly around his wrists. He didn’t bother asking John any questions because he knew the other man wouldn’t answer. It would only give John clues as to his whereabouts once he left the room.

 

Instead, he grabbed John by the back of the head and slammed his face straight into the floor. There was a cracking sound and blood spurted out, combined with John’s wet “ _‘uck!_ ” Tim guessed he’d broken John’s nose and possibly knocked out a tooth.

 

Without giving the man a chance to regain control of the situation by using his heavier weight, Tim jerked John up and braced himself against the floor again, this time holding John up just enough for a textbook blood choke. John jerked and struggled, trying to roll or buck Tim off, but Tim compensated for the movements and only dug his arm harder into John’s windpipe. It wasn’t long until John’s struggling became more sluggish and, ultimately, he slumped in Tim’s hands.

 

Tim let him drop to the floor unconscious and then rolled him onto his side so he wouldn’t drown in his own blood. He searched the man’s body for anything of use.

 

He grabbed some keys, a radio, and the red band on his upper arm that identified him as a faction 53 member. He took a moment to tie the band around his own arm and then walked to the door and knocked.

 

“Done already?” the guard called out, his voice muffled through the heavy metal door. Tim heard the clanking of the key turning and the door opening. He stood at an angle that would give him the best advantage and waited until the right moment: when the man had opened the door enough for Tim to get out and just as he was looking inside; just before he would see his fallen comrade.

 

Tim moved in close and struck with quick, precise movements, striking the back of the man’s neck. The older man started to stumble forward and Tim moved with him, stealing the rifle slung across his back and slamming the butt of it against his head in a ruthless but effective move.

 

The guard slumped and Tim caught him before he made too much of a noise in the hallway. He dragged the guard’s body into the cell and stole anything that looked of use from him as well. Then, he walked out of the cell and firmly shut the door behind him, making sure it was locked.

 

With a glance up and down the hallway to reorient himself and ensure no one was around, Tim took off in a half jog, half stride. Fortunately he’d memorized the blueprints of the area beforehand, since the building had been renovated from a rec center for the abandoned park.

 

It wasn’t hard moving relatively unseen through the building even though it wasn’t terribly large. Something he’d learned quickly as an agent was that people tended not to question someone who walked with purpose and seemed like they knew exactly where they were going.

 

With the red band around his arm and a gun at his back like everyone else, and with his black clothing that hid any blood or bruises, it was a simple case of casually turning his head or letting his hair hide his face as he moved through the hideout. There were more people here than his failed mission, which worked to his advantage; the likelihood of them knowing everyone was diminished compared to the small safe house he’d tried to infiltrate the first time.

 

It didn’t take him long to find the computer room. They had partial information from an informant regarding the layout of the place. There was only one person inside, since the building was supposed to be on lockdown and news of a prisoner likely hadn’t traveled that fast. Even if it had, he hadn’t received any indication yet from the radio or the behavior of the hostiles around him that implied it had been discovered that he’d escaped.

 

Tim walked into the room and when the woman glanced over her shoulder at him he smiled and made an inane comment to disarm her, acting as though he was in there on business. She started to look away and he hit her hard on the head at an angle to incapacitate her quickly.

 

She didn’t even let out a startled noise; she simply slumped to the side. He caught her before she could land on the equipment, and he sat her back up in the chair so if anyone walked in it would seem at first glance that she was just sitting there.

 

He moved quickly, rolling her out of the way so he could crouch over the computer and access the information he needed. He copied it all onto a memory card and kept an equal eye on the door, making sure no one else was coming. The network the hostiles had wasn’t as fast as it could have been but even so it wasn’t a long wait until a window on the screen informed him that the copy was complete.

 

He erased all indication that he’d been there and rolled the woman back in front of the computer. Then he secured the memory card back in the hiding spot in the back of his belt buckle and left.

 

Tim was calm as he walked through the building, acting perfectly casual, as if he had every right to be there. He only received one or two odd looks but the confidence he displayed caused the people’s gazes to inevitably slide away with only the faintest quizzical furrow of their eyebrows. Intel suggested that faction 53 had been recruiting a decent amount of people lately so a new face certainly wasn’t unusual.

 

Tim was just passing through the front door when someone suddenly yelled that a prisoner had escaped. It would be obvious that something was wrong if he walked right out after such a declaration, but he wasn’t about to push his luck by running around all night pretending to be a hostile until someone realized he really wasn’t who he said he was.

 

He slipped outside and at first, he thought he may have gotten away. However, as he moved quickly across the expanse of open space before he reached the trees that surrounded one edge of the property, he heard a commotion inside. Tim moved faster but didn’t start to run in case he was under surveillance and they didn’t know yet who he was. Just as he was disappearing into the shadows of the trees, he heard the main door open and someone yell out that a person who matched the description of the escapee had just left the building.

 

Tim immediately slipped into the forest, using the trees as a cover. He broke into a run, no longer having needs to be casual. He could hear people shouting orders to look for him and knew that the forest would be a place they would look pretty quickly.

 

Soon, he heard pursuit behind him. It only sounded like two or three people but when one of them shouted that they thought they saw him ahead, Tim’s eyes narrowed. He needed to get out. _Now_.

 

Tim ran as fast as he could but the woods were unfamiliar to him and, being unaccustomed to forests, he also found it more difficult to navigate at night. There were too many dips and bumps hidden by foliage and on a half-moon night, the amount of light that filtered through the canopy was minimal.

 

He realized at one point that he wouldn’t be able to outrun them when they had probably traversed these woods many times. When he concluded that he couldn’t take entirely evasive actions, he decided to go about this a different way. He slowed to a stop and hid in the shadows to see if they would pass him by. It was worth a try but they stopped right around where he had, likely having noted the lack of footsteps ahead of them. Tim knew it would only be a matter of time before they saw him lurking there and they’d notice movement if he tried to slip away, so instead, he made noise as he broke into the small clearing they were in.

 

Two men were there. Guns were leveled at his head and chest immediately.

 

Panting for breath, Tim raised his hands to show he held no weapons. The rifle remained hanging over his shoulder. “What the hell’s your problem?” he demanded breathlessly. “I saw the intruder running this way so I came after him. Don’t aim your guns at me; go after him instead.”

 

“Nice try,” one of the men said with a sneer.

 

“You’re the intruder,” the second man said firmly. “And you’re just lucky we’ve been told to bring you back alive or you would’ve been dead twelve times over by now.”

 

Tim stared at him for a moment, as if he thought him stupid. “Are you an idiot? I joined a month ago. Look.” He tilted just enough so they could see the band on his arm.

 

“We know what you look like,” was the unmoved reply. “I saw you being dragged down to the prison in handcuffs half an hour ago.”

 

Considering this, Tim figured there was no point standing there arguing. The rest of the hostiles could be on their way and he knew he wouldn’t be able to get away once they appeared.

 

Without warning, Tim dropped to the ground, where the darkness of the night helped cover him. The two men clearly hadn’t been expecting it because one of them made a noise of surprise and the other started to look down.

 

Not waiting for them to get their act together, Tim rolled to the side and swiped one man’s legs from beneath him. As the man crashed to the ground, Tim slammed him on the head with his rifle butt. The man groaned but didn’t fall unconscious. Tim had to scramble away just as the second man shot in his direction.

 

Twirling, Tim jumped up behind him and kicked him squarely in the back, knocking him forward enough that he stumbled and lost his balance. Tim was in his personal space in a blink, his rifle swinging around and slamming into the gunman’s face so hard that his head snapped to the side with a crack.

 

The man fell to the ground and Tim twirled around just as the first man was staggering to his feet. Tim kicked him back against the tree and hit him on the head with the rifle again. When the man started to fall, Tim dropped the rifle and followed it up with a hard chop to the back of the man’s neck. The man collapsed, unmoving.

 

It was all over relatively quickly and silently, aside from the single crack of gunfire which could draw attention from other hostiles. The sound had been muffled by the forest but he didn’t know if it would have muffled it enough. He grabbed one of the rifles just in case and took off running.

 

Even running, it took him a few minutes to navigate successfully through the woods, a task made more difficult by the dark of night. He’d been born and raised in this city and as a child, he’d wandered around many areas with his best friend. He had no problems with buildings and streets and remembering directions in those settings. He could be in a building one time and remember directions. He could see blueprints before he went into a building and know how to properly navigate, building a 3D image in his mind that he could spin around and turn and always know where he was.

 

But when every direction seemed to be filled with the same view of tree trunks and leaves that blocked out any reference points beyond, he got confused.

 

It was stupid and he wouldn’t admit it to anyone, but he actually felt a spike of uncertainty as he felt like he’d been running and running with no end in sight. He started wondering if he’d gotten turned around. Was he running straight back toward enemy territory? Would he burst right back out into a clearing and find hostiles surrounding him with guns he couldn’t evade this time? He couldn’t be that confused, could he?

 

He was starting to grow worried when he finally ran through an area with thinner canopies, affording him a much-needed glimpse of the half-broken buildings rising beyond the park. He reoriented himself in his mind based on the angle of the buildings and kept going. It wasn’t long before he burst out of the park area and back into the more familiar urban streets.

 

He hadn’t actually been that far off, which was a relief since he didn’t want to have to run another few blocks because he got stupid when a bunch of trees surrounded him.

 

This area of the city was largely abandoned, although there were still lights flickering in windows here and there. Faction 53 had likely chosen this location because of that; because it was removed from the general populace and gatherings would be less noticeable, the kind of area where gunfire went unreported.

 

Once he was back in urban territory, he had no troubles easily navigating to the meeting point. As he reached the vicinity, he slowed down. He approached the corner and checked around first to ensure he wasn’t being watched or followed.

 

He was breathing so hard that he couldn’t even hear his thundering heartbeat, and his limbs tingled. His torso ached furiously, something he noticed more when he’d stopped running and the adrenaline slowly diminished. His ribs burned and his fingers felt weaker than usual. He tried to be as quiet as possible until he determined that no hostiles were around. Satisfied, he slid through the shadows and approached the vehicle.

 

As per their new routine, Damian was sitting in the driver’s seat waiting. On a larger mission with a bigger team, it would be customary for the team leader to wait in the vehicle to run the mission and make sure everyone was on point. However, their ‘team’ consisted of only two people. It didn’t seem to deter Damian in the slightest though as the other agent stated that he was the ‘senior agent’ and thus, the team leader.

 

The fact that Damian was more needed on the field than in a van didn’t seem to bother the other male at all.

 

Vivid green eyes flicked over Tim’s disheveled form as he climbed into the van.

 

“Surprisingly impressive,” he commented idly, starting the engine.

 

Tim shut the door and paused as he was about to toss the rifle in the back. He looked over at Damian with faintly narrowed eyes, trying to determine if that had been some sort of veiled slight. Judging by Damian’s expression and tone, it had been a simple statement with no negative undertones.

 

That caught Tim off-guard, because it was the first time Damian had said anything _positive_ about him related to a mission. It had never been something Tim had been clear about as to whether Damian simply sat in the vehicle the whole time waiting or whether he got out to explore.

 

“Were you watching?” Tim asked after a moment.

 

Damian didn’t answer immediately and glanced in the rear view mirror briefly. His gaze narrowed before sweeping back to the windshield as if he sensed something or was looking for something. Despite the fact that he didn’t accompany Tim on the assignments, he was always diligent about ensuring that they were not followed upon leaving whatever area they had been in. As cynical he was about the trial partnership and his own future as an agent, Damian still protected the integrity of their covert nature.

 

He shifted the car into drive and guided them off the street. His gaze remained intent on the darkness that pressed in on them from the outside. Streetlights in this forgotten neighborhood had long since died out.

 

They returned to the highway with no signs of a tail. For several moments it seemed as though the question had been ignored and forgotten.

 

Tim went about ensuring the safety was on the rifle before he twisted to stow it out of the way behind his seat. His torso screamed at the movement and he winced briefly, thinking that he should have been more careful about that. He was belatedly fastening his seatbelt after having returned to a normal sitting position when Damian spoke.

 

“I was observing.”

 

Tim looked over, absently tightening the belt across his lap. His eyebrows twitched down faintly. “Why?”

 

“To observe you.”

 

“Obviously,” Tim said, feeling the familiar annoyance rose whenever he had to deal with Damian. Talking to him was like pulling teeth. “You didn’t initially observe me, though. What changed?”

 

“I figured you’d be dead by now. It’s surprising and I’m very _rarely_ surprised.”

 

Tim watched Damian for a moment, trying to get a read on the man and, as always, coming up with so many conflicting signals that he may as well have drawn a blank. He didn’t think he would ever get used to the enigma that Damian represented.

 

Since it was one of the few times Damian seemed to be talking to him in some form without it being laced with barbed insults or sarcastic pet names that irritated Tim to no end, it made him consider the comment a little more seriously.

 

“What do you think, then?” Tim realized that he actually was curious about what Damian thought of his performance.

 

This conversation was a relatively new development, especially since little had changed between them since the first mission. Still, Tim had realized quickly that if this partnership was going to function on any level, he had to put in more effort to at least appear to be reasonable.

 

In truth, Damian couldn’t be entirely blamed for having thought poorly of Tim based on that first mission. After his anger had cooled, he’d realized he hadn’t performed impressively.

 

So Tim acted more social and agreeable, even during times when he felt like being contrary instead. It seemed to be the best course of action to encourage Damian’s cooperation.

 

“I think that you’re less likely to die as easily as I first thought,” Damian replied cryptically and unhelpfully. That seemed to be the end of his analysis until a smirk crossed his full mouth and his green eyes flicked over to Tim.

 

“That is… Until we’re assigned a mission that requires a lot of combat, anyway. The likelihood of you surviving a storm on your own is slim to none.” And the usual mockery was back.

 

“It’s possible I would surprise you on storms as well,” Tim replied, resisting the urge to be more confrontational. General Clark was right in saying that Damian had a way to get under everyone’s skin though so far, Tim had managed to keep most of his ire under wraps. “Although, the difficulty of such missions is _why_ we’re supposed to be _partners_...” Tim said pointedly.

 

Damian snorted, lips curling into a sarcastic smile. He turned his gaze away to focus back on the road ahead.

 

Tim stared at the other agent. Normally, that would be the end of their interaction. However, since Damian seemed to be unusually co-operative today, Tim did not want to miss the chance of getting more answers out of him. Giving up a chance to understand more about Damian seemed to be a waste.

 

“Why are you still so resistant to this?” Tim asked, looking exasperated as he searched for Damian’s expression for any hints of what was going on inside his head. “The issues that arose in the first mission haven’t been repeated. I understand that we didn’t have a good first impression and you haven’t had the best track record with previous partners but I’m not them. I don’t understand what I’ve personally done to warrant you being so unwilling to cooperate.”

 

This time when Damian’s vivid green eyes flicked over to him, there was a definite surprised element to his typically bland expression. His lips parted, dark eyebrows drawing together slightly. After a moment he shrugged his shoulders before replying.

 

“Oh, I don’t have a reason. I’m just making this up as I go because I’m insane and all.”

 

Tim gave Damian an unmoved look. “We both know that isn’t true. If you don’t want to answer the question, say so, there’s no reason to lie.”

 

This time, the corners of Damian’s lips lifted slightly. He seemed to debate not answering because he was silent for a very long moment, his fingers loosely wrapped around the steering wheel as he drove. In the end, he seemed to find no reason not to reply although his expression had quickly returned to its typical unreadable state.

 

“For someone who allegedly was content to stare blankly at people and not talk for the better part of their training, you are certainly chatty at the moment.”

 

Tim shrugged. He shifted his feet in front of him, stretching them out and trying to readjust his position so it put less pressure on his pained ribs.

 

“I don’t see the point in talking for the sake of talking, and prior to today I had little to say to you.” He tilted his head enough to look over at Damian sidelong, his expression impassive and tone simple. “You seemed content to ignore or belittle me and I had nothing to contribute to that.”

 

“Well, I still don’t particularly like you, if that helps you in shutting up.”

 

“That’s fine. I don’t particularly like you, either,” Tim said, unperturbed.

 

His back was continuing to bother him and he finally reached down to let the seat fall back into a more reclined position. It helped a little bit but he was going to have to visit the med wing just to make sure he hadn’t acquired anything more than unpleasant bruises.

 

“However,” Tim added idly as an observation, “for someone with a reputation of being unafraid of confrontation, it’s interesting that you keep evading simple questions.”

 

Damian scoffed and accelerated as they moved into a higher speed limit zone. “I don’t need to answer to you or explain my reasoning to you. I don’t have any desire to even have a conversation with you. It’s not my problem how curious you are.”

 

Tim looked at Damian sidelong, studying his features. Damian looked wholly unimpressed and when it became evident that he wasn’t going to say anything further, Tim looked away. He tilted his head back against the seat and closed his eyes, letting silence fall between them.

 

He thought about how Damian had actually talked to him for a change and then how obvious it was that he was no longer interested. He still didn’t understand the man. But this was the first time he’d had a glimpse of something that he thought, given enough information, he could eventually figure out. And while on one level it only created more questions, it also showed that maybe there would eventually be some answers involved as well.

 

The rest of the nearly hour long trip was spent in silence which neither of them bothered to break. Tim had no interest in forcing conversation on someone and he had nothing to talk about anyway. The few times Tim glanced at Damian out of the corner of his eye, the senior agent’s expression wasn’t any more readable than it typically was and it didn’t take long for Tim to stop looking at all.

 

When they returned to the League, the usual routine played out; Damian left without appearing to have any intentions of writing a report, and Tim wrote and submitted his report immediately. Tim visited the med wing and was told that there was nothing permanent; just some bruises and stretched muscles.

 

When he left the med wing and started across the courtyard, he got the usual curious and sidelong stares. As he left, he received notice that he was to go to the meeting room for debriefing in a few hours.

 

* * *

 

 

The room was surprisingly comfortable, with high-backed chairs that didn’t squeak no matter the abuse they took. An opaque dark glass table commanded the center of the room, shining in the fluorescent lights in the ceiling. There was a touchscreen computer embedded at the head of the table which was used for typical functions as well as control of the projected holographs that at times erupted from the center of the table. It was a useful tool and one that was utilized in the discussion of specific people, locations and maps.

 

Around the table, five people sat; the same people that had attended each debriefing before. Soon after Tim’s first mission, he had been informed of a very shocking fact: the Court-oriented unit that he was a part of was apparently a prototype of a new method in dealing with higher profile groups. Normally, when dealing with any threats, the League would send individual field agents to unconnected missions while others were to collect intel and form necessary strategies. However, the outdated method had proven to be less effective and there was a higher risk of preaching in security.

 

Hence, the organization-oriented team was born as a solution to improve the efficiency as well as minimize the risks. The unit Tim and Damian were involved with was so highly confidential, to the point that other than Marshal Luthor, Tim’s mother and Damian, there was probably no one else other than those in the room who even knew what truly happened on the missions.

 

Tim sat up straight in his chair as he stared blankly at the screen. As usual, General Kent sat at the front of the table, speaking to Cassandra Cain the analyst, whose words were always clipped and choppy though her speech didn’t limit her remarkable insight and frighteningly accurate analysis.

 

There were also two people in charge of tracking the rebel movements, a formidable job on its own without counting the fact that with the Court being worldwide they had to have international as well as domestic contacts.

 

Stephanie was as talkative as ever. She was easily the oddest person that Tim had ever met in the League so far. Stephanie was the exact opposite to most agents that Tim had the pleasure of meeting. During a briefing, she was not above making chit chat about the newest MMO she was playing online, or hacker forums she frequented or anime series that she liked. General Kent often showed impatience with Stephanie’s apparent ADHD but despite that, behind the General’s annoyance, there seemed to be fondness between the two.

 

It wasn’t surprising that people found it hard to find fault with Stephanie. She was shorter than average at 5’5” and healthy. Her skin was dusted with a layer of freckles and her smile was always wholehearted and genuine. Her wavy blond hair fell loosely across her back. She looked more like a geeky teenager than a topnotch agent that was specialized in intel-gathering.

 

At the moment, Stephanie was typing away on a large, outdated-looking laptop while simultaneously sliding her thumb across a touch panel and diverting her attention between the two.

 

The other R&D agent, Katherine ‘Kate’ Kane, looked much older than her counterpart.

 

She was a stern-looking woman, with blood red chin-length hair and steel gray eyes. She was the medium between the silent Cassandra and the talkative Stephanie, a very focused and prideful woman. She also had a very obvious dislike of Tim, primarily because she didn’t trust Tim’s ability to perform and also because she was one of those agents who had to work very hard to get where she was right now which was fine with Tim. She was a very respectable woman when it came to her professional ability. Her ability at research was simply uncanny.

 

Clark nodded at Kate and briefly glanced down at the touch computer.

 

They’d just gone over the details of the mission and the debriefing was drawing to a close. They were never the most interesting of affairs, especially when there was nothing immediate for follow up.

 

“Analysis… ready as soon as possible.” Cassandra was saying as she set her touch panel down and looked over at Clark. “Takes time to… look through the… intel.”

 

“Is it possible there isn’t anything of use at all?”

 

Cassandra nodded. “Yes,” She said quietly.

 

Kate frowned before she joined in. “… Especially when the enemy gets forewarning that they’re being looked into by an unknown group.” She didn’t look at Tim but his stiff tone made it clear that it was a slight against Tim for the first mission.

 

Cassandra focused her intense gaze on Kate. “Won’t know until later,” she said firmly. Her gaze flitted to Tim before she continued. “Factor 53 might feel safe… out of the city…”

 

The General inclined his head and pushed his chair back. “Report to me immediately when you’re done. We’ll reconvene when we have more information unless something else comes up.” That being said, he logged out of the computer and left the room as he typically did.

 

“Geez, he’s always in a rush these days,” Steph commented, making a face.

 

“He could be outrunning a curse,” She continued, furrowing her eyebrows and looking at the door where the General had made his exit with a frown. “Do you think that’s what’s going on?”

 

Kate paused as she logged out on her own touch panel, and shot Stephanie an annoyed stare. “That’s easily the stupidest thing you’ve said this week.”

 

“Just this week?” Steph asked, looking over at Kate with mild surprise. “What’d I say last week? Was it something awesome and enlightening?”

 

“Stop being such an imbecile.” Kate glared at Stephanie and opened her briefcase with sharp movements. “I’ll never know how someone like you made it into a unit like this. Some of us had to _actually_ work for it.” She looked at Tim pointedly to include him in the comment before she looked down to shove the touch panel into her briefcase.

 

Tim didn’t respond. It hadn’t taken long to determine that Katherine seemed to have a problem with a lot of things and that she didn’t think Tim had good reason to be in the unit. Other people seemed to share the sentiment as well, though luckily not Cassandra or Stephanie.

 

“No really,” Steph said, peering at Kate. She seemed to have taken special interest in the topic. “Maybe I was sleepwalking at the time? I don’t remember any cool conversations.” She considered it seriously before adding, “Oh! Unless I was telling you the story about my dream, but if you actually believed I sprouted bat wings, wore eggplant spandex and could fly…”

 

Kate only seemed to get further irritated by the answer and Tim looked away as he went to gather his things. Those two seemed to bicker during most of the meetings, with Stephanie’s seeming obliviousness only fueling Katherine’s tense irritation. Still, despite the fact that Kate seemed to think Steph was a complete idiot half the time, Tim didn’t believe it was the case.

 

Although Stephanie seemed cheerful, optimistic, and perpetually hyperactive, and although she often went on tangents that seemed disconnected with reality, she was good at her job and seemed to truly know the information she presented. Tim suspected that it wasn’t really that Stephanie was an idiot or believed most of what she was saying; she may have just had an offbeat sense of humor. Sometimes Tim thought he detected that Stephanie simply seemed to enjoy being odd or teasing Kate, perhaps even more because Kate always responded.

 

Either way, Tim didn’t have much interest in staying around for no reason so he moved to stand.

 

“Very strange,” Cass piped up seemingly randomly. She was peering down into the panel with a frown. It almost seemed like she was continuing a conversation although she hadn’t been talking out loud to anyone else in the past few seconds. But that seemed to be how Cassandra’s mind worked; always going, even when she was talking about something entirely different. “Queen Bee… working _with_ the Court? Her characteristics… not matching up to their… usual… recruitment agenda. Understand?”

 

Tim paused and, since work-related topics were coming up, he settled back in his chair. Kate and Steph had stopped talking. “The Court does seem to go for the assholes,” Steph agreed, tilting her chair back and frowning. “And ‘Queen Bee’ ’s not really their style unless she held up an old folks’ blood bank for the poor when I wasn’t looking.”

 

“Faction 53 isn’t as aggressive as they used to be but they still have power,” Kate said pointedly. “The Court could simply be expanding their selection pool. It wouldn’t be the first time they shifted their targets.”

 

“Yeah, but something dreadful this way comes,” Stephanie said, waving a hand vaguely and looking over at Cassandra. “Right? They’ve got the right hand slapping the left is what your source said. And once they break up they’re gonna lose any power they held which makes them prime meat for the vultures.” She paused and frowned. “Or I guess rotting meat?”

 

“No,” Cassandra shook her head and put down the panel, looking around at the other three. She seemed to be searching for the right words to say. “Personality. Just Queen Bee’s _personality_. Doesn’t match.” She stressed. “Analyzed her already. Leader type. Likes control. Doesn’t like to be controlled. Hope… gonna be negotiation… instead of a storm.”

 

“The only indication so far is that she’s thinking about it, correct?” Tim asked.

 

Cassandra nodded, messy black hair bouncing around with the motion. She shifted in the chair and arched her back in a stretch. “Yes. Seems hesitant.”

 

Stephanie frowned. “…But then again she’s super paranoid about everything ever since the split with Aarons.”

 

Tim had read about the split on his panel. Shortly before he joined Clark’s unit as active duty, faction 53’s two main leaders, Jason Aarons and Queen Bee, had had a falling out. The group had initially formed because the woman and others had an issue with the way the city was policed in Blüdhaven, the next city over that shared some of the wastelands.

 

Faction 53 felt that the lack of reconstruction in the poor neighborhoods, combined with what they felt was over-policing of the destitute, created an unfair environment. Eventually, 53 had taken to terroristic acts to prove their point, but Jason Aarons was more aggressive and took it further than his counterpart. That had ultimately caused friction between the two until Jason left abruptly and formed his own group, which was labeled 62 in League records. Aarons had taken about one-third of the followers with him but rumors among the other groups were that some were already debating returning. However, some of the people who stayed behind in 53 seemed to be having second thoughts as well.

 

It left both groups in a vulnerable position, but especially 53 which was being recruited by the Court. Allegedly, some of the people in 53 wanted Queen Bee to accept the Court’ proposition. The fact that she was hesitant about it was raising questions about her leadership skills among some of them.

 

“She _should_ be paranoid,” Kate said flatly, her stark features completely unsympathetic. “She can’t keep her group together and she’s letting enemy agents with little training infiltrate the compound. She’s lucky there hasn’t been a mutiny.”

 

Steph raised her eyebrow. “Being kind of harsh on the gal, aren’t you? She doesn’t seem like too much of a bitch. Also, I’m pretty sure half a year of hardcore boot camp isn’t ‘little training.’“

 

Kate shot Stephanie a look of distaste and grabbed her briefcase as she stood. “I forgot; it’s love the enemy day,” she said sarcastically.

 

“Well, mark a calendar then,” Stephanie said with a bright smile, looking like she completely meant every word she said instead of mocking Kate. “I won’t always be here to remind you.”

 

Kate scowled and left.

 

Cass watched Kate go and then looked at Steph and Tim. She stood up before inclining her head. She didn’t bother with goodbyes with the exception of a small hand wave that made Stephanie wave back enthusiastically.

 

Tim stood to leave as well, believing that there wasn’t anything left to do anymore.

 

“Tim, do you have a sec?”

 

Stephanie had half stood up and was looking at him hopefully.

 

Tim paused, looking at Stephanie blankly. It was the first time the other agent had asked him to stay behind. He sat back down in the chair, wondering if it had something to do with the mission and what had been bothering Stephanie about it. “Yes.”

 

There was a moment when Stephanie just looked at him slightly oddly before the R&D agent just shrugged and sat back down. “Do you mind if I pick your brain a bit about your partner?”

 

Tim stared at her, wondering at first if this was some sort of joke. But Stephanie seemed serious and it left Tim at a loss. “Why? Surely you know him better than I do.”

 

“Ha! Not even close.” Stephanie reclined in her chair and raised her arms, threading thin fingers behind her head. The black jacket she wore over a faded anime t-shirt shifted with the motion. “I haven’t had a conversation with Dami since I was, like, I dunno... _thirteen_?”

 

Tim watched her for a moment. It was the first time he’d heard someone refer to Damian as ‘Dami’. It was obviously a nickname, but the only nickname Damian seemed to have was the cursed ‘Monster’ that followed him behind his back everywhere he went. It was an oddity, considering Stephanie apparently hadn’t spoken to him for a long time let alone be close enough to have a nickname for the other agent. “Were you close prior to that?”

 

The girl gave him another confused, odd stare and sat up straight in the chair. “No... That was like when he first got here. He stayed with the Luthors for a little bit because he was so young and his brothers were away for an extended mission but it didn’t work out and I never had direct contact with him again.”

 

“Then why do you refer to him as Dami? No one else appears to do the same.”

 

“I dunno. Because that’s his nickname? People just call him Monster because they are total jerks.” Stephanie gave one of her huge shrugs, her shoulders nearly going up to her ears, and smiled. “Plus, I like his nickname better. His brother calls him that or ‘Little D’. Dick does that. Um… Agent Grayson. He seems to like it as well but…”

 

Tim considered that; even if it was Damian’s nickname, Stephanie was the only one who seemed to care. It seemed like a somewhat familiar way to address a man who was not exactly approachable and he briefly wondered if Damian had a preference either way. He leaned back in the chair with a nod to acknowledge the answer.

 

“What did you want to discuss?”

 

“I’d just wondered what he was like one-on-one. He never shows up for briefings, even back when he had the other trial partners.” Stephanie’s words were coming out casually but she was avoiding Tim’s eyes after she started talking.

 

Tim’s eyebrows drew down in confusion. “Why does it matter?”

 

“Because I want to know what he’s like and you’re the only person he’s in contact with.” Stephanie frowned and started packing her things up. “If you don’t want to talk about it, it’s fine.”

 

“I don’t mind,” Tim said with a shrug, frowning faintly to himself as he considered the question. He shifted in the seat and crossed his arms. “I don’t have much of an answer. This latest mission was the first time we spoke on terms that were equal in any way. Typically we don’t converse much or, when we do, it’s regarding the mission parameters or he’s being sarcastic.”

 

For some reason, the last part caused Stephanie’s lips to shift up into another grin.

 

“The few times I have seen him in the past few years, he’s always such a smart ass. It’s pretty funny, I think. He just doesn’t give a crap about anything here the way everyone else does.”

 

“I find it to be irritating at times, to be honest,” Tim said mildly. “Especially since he seems to enjoy calling me sarcastic pet names such as _beloved_.”

 

At that, Stephanie’s eyebrows shot up. “Why does he call you that?”

 

“To be obnoxious or patronizing, it seems,” Tim said, leaning back in the chair.

 

“Or...” The mischievous grin returned, making the other agent look far more youthful than she already was. She seemed to be on the verge of saying something but she stopped herself and hid her grin behind the case of her laptop as she put it away. “Well, anyway. He could just be trying to get a reaction out of you.”

 

Tim quirked an eyebrow, watching Stephanie for a moment before he looked away. “I suppose it’s possible. Did you speak to his previous partners? I assumed it was something he did with anyone he spent any amount of time near.”

 

“The pet name thing? Nah, not as far as I can tell. None of them lasted very long. I mean Laurel made it probably a month before she got killed and she was the longest. We actually had hope for her.” Stephanie made a face and said the last comment somewhat dryly. “But they never made it sound as though he really... joked around or anything. At any extent.”

 

 _That_ was interesting. It brought to mind questions he’d had before, wondering how exactly his predecessors had failed.

 

“What happened to them?” Tim asked.

 

Stephanie stopped putting her equipment in the huge backpack she carried and tilted her head to the side. She studied Tim for a moment, gave a little nod to herself, and began digging around in her backpack. There was an assortment of discs, flash drives, and memory cards in a large plastic bag but she seemed to have no trouble finding the one she wanted.

 

“Give me a sec and I’ll set up a whole demo,” she explained to Tim.

 

She moved to Clark’s position at the table and popped a drive in before fiddling with the computer. She made various ‘hrm’ and ‘ah-ha!’ sounds before finally organizing whatever she was trying to do. After that it took only a brief moment before the hum of the holograph machine echoed in the room and an image popped up between them.

 

The man in question looked to be in his early to mid-thirties and had fiery red hair and explosively blue eyes. His expression was hard and unkind.

 

“That’s Evan McCoy. He was bachelor number one and the mistake they should have learned from. At first they were hiring these big guys from Counter-Terror. Macho men with hero complexes.”

 

Another image popped up, this one of a younger man with deep chestnut colored skin and surprisingly light hair. “Michelin was the same way. He was bachelor number two.”

 

This time Stephanie’s fingers flew over the keyboard and two images popped up side by side. One was a thin looking man with long black hair who also looked to be in his early thirties. It seemed that most field agents were around the same age which caused one to wonder what happened to an agent who passed his or her prime. The other image was of a youthful and attractive woman.

 

“Laurel and Coral. I wonder if anyone else noticed that they rhyme.” Stephanie grinned at her own joke.

 

Tim studied the pictures and then looked over at Stephanie. “How did they die? All Damian said was that they thought he was their pet and they were killed in self-defense.”

 

Stephanie shrugged hugely again, her sky blue eyes flicking from picture to picture. “No one really knows. I mean, Dami doesn’t exactly put his information out there even if it’s in his own defense. So there’s like, no way to tell if it was legit self-defense or if he just murdered them himself, or let them die on a mission deliberately. I can see a couple of them instigating shit with him just because he’s an easy target and they kinda thought they had him in his place but... I dunno.”

 

“How long ago did all that happen?”

 

“The winter before you started, I think. That’s when Laurel died and they locked Dami back up again.” Stephanie frowned, her freckled face clearly troubled by whatever had crossed her mind. “I thought they were gonna terminate him. It really depressed me for a long time. I’m kind of a Dami fan.”

 

“Why?” Tim asked, turning his gaze onto Stephanie. “If you’ve hardly spoken to him and rarely see him, why do you care what happens to him?” Stephanie rolled her eyes and raised her hands up. “Why is everyone so dumbfounded just ‘cause I like the kid? I just like the fact that he doesn’t let them break him. I respect him. He’s literally the best and most amazing op we have, well, aside from his brothers, but they never really fight each other seriously enough to see who would win in a fair fight. And also, he’s amazingly adorable if you didn’t notice so…”

 

“Hmm.” Tim studied Stephanie. He had to agree that Damian’s unique features were attractive. “Do you tell everyone all of this?”

 

“Which part?”

 

“Any of it, but particularly your crush.”

 

“Oh.” Stephanie made a face. “No, no, I _don’t_ have a crush on him. I like the kid because he’s a smartass. He’s way too young for me. When I said he’s ‘adorable’, I mean in a ‘cranky kid’ sense, not in ‘I’ll totally tap that’ sense.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Jeez, a person can like another person without romantic feelings involved, you know.”

 

Tim nodded again. “I see. I… apologize for the misunderstanding.” He fell silent for a moment and reached down for his messenger bag. He could have stayed silent but in some ways, Stephanie reminded him of Kon, who had always been quick to defend the bullied. It wasn’t something Tim could think about in any way other than a passing glance, because remembering Conner was often too painful of an endeavor. But because the connection was there in his mind, he couldn’t ignore it and he couldn’t let the moment pass by without commenting. “It’s a commendable attitude to stand up for what you believe in regardless of whether it’s widely accepted.”

 

The comment seemed to please Stephanie and her expression lightened some. She’d seemed somewhat on guard since the conversation had started, as if she’d expected ridicule or scorn for her outlook. “I’m glad you’re not another asshole. A lot of that tends to go around here. It’s like, in the air.”

 

“I’ve noticed,” Tim said mildly. Stephanie popped out the flash drive and stood up.

 

She hiked her huge backpack over one shoulder. “Well I have to jam but let me know if you want to talk or if like, you want any advice about Dami. I’m not best buddies with him but I’m kind of a Wayne lexicon. I’ve studied all three of them like a creeper for a while. It’s a little gross. This obsession should really stop sometime before they think I’m a stalker.”

 

It wasn’t entirely clear how serious she was about the last couple of lines and it seemed to amuse her to say them out loud. “Take care, Tim. I hope we can talk more. You’re not a bad kid.”

 

Tim quirked his eyebrows slightly. He had to wonder exactly how much Stephanie knew about Damian, and how much Damian knew Stephanie knew. “I’ll keep it in mind,” was all he said.

 

Stephanie headed to the door and gave a little wave. “See ya around. And P.S., you should try to get him to come to briefings!”

 

That being said, the blonde R&D agent disappeared out the door. Tim watched her go. After a few thoughtful moments, he left as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next chapter:**
> 
>  
> 
> He couldn't help taking in Damian's scars and tattoo along with his body itself. Although Damian often walked around shirtless and wore low-riding pants, it was the first time Tim had seen the other agent fully nude. He was thin in the waist but he was muscular, with broad shoulders that tapered into lean arms. When they'd been facing each other, Tim also hadn't been able to help noticing that Damian was... well-endowed. It all fell together to blend well with Damian's deep voice and those striking green eyes, set in a well-balanced face.
> 
> None of what Tim saw surprised him. Every part of Damian's body seemed to match what Tim was starting to associate with Damian as a person: attractive, unique, and with a hint of mystery.


	8. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the nude chapter, my friends. I'm sorry it's not as dramatic as your imagination manages to conjure up. But hey, nothing dramatic is going to happen until chapter 9. I will make at least one of you scream. I promise myself that *winks* Thank you for sticking with this story :D I hope I have not disappointed so far ;3

It didn’t take long for him to determine that the two trainees in the corners were talking about him. Between sparring against each other, when they paused to wipe their faces with damp towels, they angled themselves so they could watch him askance. Their lips moved subtly but the gazes that burnt at his back made it clear that they were talking about him. He didn’t even need to hear to know what they were talking about. Even after months had passed, the whispers didn’t stop. It was all the same since he had joined.

 

Indignant anger over his placement and the general consensus that it was due to nepotism and nothing more.

 

Comments about his androgynous looks and derogatory debate about what that meant about him.

 

Rumblings of whether he would make it as an agent. Mocking whispers about his prowess in the training room and his oddities, like how he always wore a long-sleeved hoodie and never removed it no matter how hot it may make him.

 

Rumors that exaggerated any of his failures.

 

Scattered, joking bets about how soon he would die and how it would happen. As far as he’d heard, the bets were so far in favor of a gruesome death at Damian’s hands but a few people held out that he’d be killed on a mission long before Damian snapped.

 

He let it all wash over him in the background but he couldn’t deny that the words took to him on some level. Small seeds of doubt and resignation sprouted roots that wormed their way deep into him.

 

But then, it had always been this way. Even before the League, long before anything had happened that had made him want to run away from the world and shut himself off completely, there had been whispers behind his back and slanted, taunting stares.

 

He sighed quietly to himself and pushed away wet strands of hair that had fallen into his eyes. Soon he wouldn’t be able to use the facilities in the training complex anymore and he’d have to find a new place. Slade was letting him only because he was still on probation and he’d been having troubles with gaining and maintaining the proper amount of muscle and weight.

 

That was part of the trouble; there was some truth in their whispers. Tim had been trying to train hard but he came from a sedentary lifestyle. He’d spent years as a ghost in his own home, barely bothering to move between rooms. And before then, he’d never been particularly athletic. Trying to throw himself wholeheartedly into a workout regimen that had become a nearly daily event was tiring, even after several months.

 

His build was naturally lean and although he didn’t have too much trouble maintaining that, the League seemed to want him to meet standards he wasn’t certain made sense for him. But he couldn’t say that to anyone so all he could do was to come to the training rooms and workout tirelessly while whispers and mocking stares came and went.

 

Noon felt like it could not come quickly enough. He gathered his things and disappeared into the locker room, using one of the bathroom stalls to change in private rather than staying out in the larger area like most people did. It was yet another quirk of his that caused others to question him.

 

Over time he’d realized that Jade, the agent he’d met during training, had apparently not gotten over her dislike of him. She and a few of her associates seemed to go out of their way to badmouth him on a regular basis. An agent named Jinx seemed to take particular delight in it, since she was especially at odds over Tim’s androgynous appearance.

 

Although Jade had instigated it, Jinx had been the one to start the joke that Tim probably stayed covered up because he was really a girl, or even a transsexual.

 

She’d suggested to Jade and another agent, Gizmo, that one day they should follow him into the locker room, hold him still, and find out for themselves. Roy had been present that day, and despite the fact that he didn’t appear to like Tim much more than the others, the comment had seemed to disgust him.

 

For Tim, the idea of anyone forcing him down and yanking up his clothes was highly disturbing.

 

It wasn’t the first time anyone had commented on his appearance. When he was younger, a few of the kids used to tease him about it at school. He’d cut his hair short at one point, hoping to mimic the other boys who looked more normal. It hadn’t made much of a difference. There was something indefinable about his features that would always lend an androgynous air to him.

 

It used to bother him. His mother was a striking woman when she wasn’t glaring coldly, but his father had been solid and masculine. Tim used to resent that he’d taken so much after his mother’s build and features, like the shape of her face and her full mouth, and had gotten so little of his father.

 

After a point, though, he’d become resigned and stopped caring about any of it.

 

He couldn’t change the way he looked and since having short hair didn’t make a significant difference, he’d taken to keeping it semi-long. At least then he could hide his expression if he ever wanted to.

 

Kon used to say he liked the way Tim looked and had gone after anyone who’d said otherwise. He wondered what Kon would say about any of this and whether he would have stormed up to the cruel-mouthed Jade with the intentions of picking a fight.

 

He cut the thought off immediately and buried it deep within himself the way he always did when Conner crossed his mind.

 

Today he was thankfully alone in the locker room and was able to change quickly into fresh clothes. When he left, the two trainees stared after him until their view was cut off by the hallway. He headed straight toward the medical wing, not wanting to be late for his assessment. They were checking him monthly so far to keep track of his weight and muscle gain, but he’d been told that once he reached the appropriate levels he would be dropped down to a yearly checkup like everyone else.

 

He had to meet with a physician and a nutritionist and all the information was sent to Slade, who was still his supervisor for physical training. Afterward, he had to also talk to a psychiatrist. Personally, Tim thought that was the way for the League to control its member, knowing who had the risk of defects, but of course, maybe he was just simply overthinking this.

 

* * *

 

Tim walked grimly to the med wing, his steps were purposeful but he didn’t try to hurry the process. Tim didn’t like doctors’ offices in the first place but he especially didn’t enjoy his trips to the med wing. Doctors seemed to think they had rights to their patients’ bodies; they could push up or pull down a shirt wherever they liked, and demand anything else in the name of their profession.

 

For the most part, Tim was able to stay fully dressed. Still, he always felt highly disturbed when they made him push up his sleeve so they could draw blood, or when they would slide a hand beneath his shirt to touch his skin or listen to his heartbeats. He spent most of the time staring blankly at the wall, trying to ignore the nausea that caught at the back of his throat and made his stomach clench. At least he had one doctor who was assigned to him, so he didn’t have to deal with a lot of different strangers, although he never knew what nurse he would get.

 

“Agent Drake,” Doctor Hagerty greeted him with his typical wide, false smile as he stepped into the room. “Let’s see how you’re doing today, shall we?”

 

He always spoke boisterously and with great cheer but Tim never believed the truth of any of it. He could see the calculation in the man’s eyes and there were times that cheerful smile seemed aimed only to bare his teeth.

 

Tim was tense and straight-backed as the nurses and doctor poked and prodded him. His jaw was set and he focused on breathing evenly as Hagerty ran his large hand up Tim’s arm and pushed up his sleeve. The brush of calloused fingers against his skin was as unwanted as it always had been and he kept his face turned resolutely away.

 

He could feel Hagerty’s gaze burn into his temple, as if the man was trying to see through his skull into his mind, or maybe he was studying the closed off quality of Tim’s eyes. Whatever the case, Hagerty prattled on about useless things and Tim breathed in and out, focusing on some sense of calm despite how much he hated being in that room. How much he hated those hands, clinical though they may be, taking liberties with touching him at will.

 

It seemed like it took forever but finally, Hagerty was done with all his tests. Tim barely paid attention as the doctor explained at length his progress. What it basically came down to was he still needed to work hard because he hadn’t yet reached the levels he was supposed to achieve.

 

A nutritionist came in afterward, giving him a detailed diet planned down to the last grape. She was kind enough but Tim thought hers was a forced cheer as well.

 

Although with her, it seemed more like she was distracted and making an effort at proper bedside manner rather than faking everything like Hagerty. She sent his dietary plan to his League account and assured him that in another month or so, he should be where he needed to be.

 

“I bet you’ve never been so healthy in your life,” she joked with a small smile before she left.

 

Finally, the door opened once again and the psychiatrist walked in. He was younger than both the physician and the nutritionist and his kindness was more real than both of them combined. He walked with confidence; tousled jet black hair framed his face as it lit up at the sight of Tim. His name was Jonathan Kent, and he was the General’s son.

 

Unsurprisingly, talking to Jon was like talking to a younger version of the General, the version that wasn’t tainted by the bleak reality of the world, still ideal and so full of passion.

 

“How are you today, Agent Drake?” Jon asked kindly, looking straight at Tim while holding the notebook loosely on one hand. “I heard about your last mission. It was a smashing success. Way to go, Agent! You are kicking asses and taking names!”

 

Tim supposed that Jon was the most decent compared between all three of his doctors. If they weren’t doctor and patient, perhaps they could have formed a real friendship. However, unfortunately, given their current circumstances, Tim only saw him as someone who wanted to pick his brain apart to test his loyalty to the League’s cause. It didn’t make a great platform for friendship to grow. They talked for a little while, mostly about how Tim was coping with the missions and so on until it was time for Tim to leave.

 

The relief he felt once he could leave was as strong as it always was in the med wing. He straightened his clothing and stepped out into the hallway. As he headed toward the main waiting room he mused that the doctors’ advice was probably right but that he would take unhealthiness and privacy over all of this any day.

 

He spent the next few hours on errands around town picking up supplements for his diet. The League provided a certain amount of items but for some of it, he was responsible for finding on his own. Although there were a few places he knew for certain would have all of what he needed, they were establishments he didn’t want to visit. Too many memories hung cloyingly in areas of the city, nestled among buildings and alleys that brought bright blue eyes unbidden to his mind.

 

When he got home he fell into his usual routine of automatically making coffee.

 

When he had a mug ready, he walked to the living room and sat on the edge of the couch. The coffee heated the mug until he could feel a light burn through his clothing as he rested the mug on his knee. He stared at nothing in particular, letting the quiet of the room reinforce the quiet of his mind. It was like his own brand of meditation to find his inner peace, except in his case it was finding the place inside him that let him shut down and ignore everything.

 

He sat like a statue in his home, occasionally sipping coffee and doing nothing in particular. There were times he wondered whether anyone else felt as alone and isolated as he did. During moments like this, however, no thoughts entered his mind at all.

 

* * *

 

Tim’s apathetic state could be most clearly felt in his home after years of working toward that goal. A routine had begun of working hard at the League where he was largely ignored and sometimes mocked and returning to his home to sit silently, at times restlessly, and wish for an end in sight. He could have been caught in that cycle for weeks if not for the missions.

 

Then came the day that he was brought in for a briefing in which he was told that he and Damian would be going to Spain for a reconnaissance mission. Having to spend a week in close quarters with Damian was a little daunting, primarily because Tim had come to covet his time alone again. He’d had to give it up during training and now he had regained it again only for this mission to try taking it all away and make everything fall apart. Being stuck around other people for too long, especially crowds or in unfamiliar situations, was still a little tiring to him. The only saving grace was that Damian, at least, didn’t seem to mind periods of silence.

 

And a smaller part of him that he didn’t fully want to acknowledge was somewhat intrigued by this mission. He still couldn’t figure Damian out. Damian was like puzzle pieces floating on a river; once a few were placed together, the current pulled the outer edges apart and scattered the pieces away once again. It left Tim feeling like he could never get the full picture, let alone decipher between truth and lies.

 

The part of him that was curious and wanted the full truth of a situation before he made a decision couldn’t let go of the fact that there was too much about Damian to dismiss him. That part made it impossible to ignore Damian or his own desire to know more. Even if it were to ultimately turn out that Damian was nothing more than how the people at the League generally presented him, at least for Tim he would have been able to reach that conclusion on his own with all the facts.

 

Neither of them had spoken much on the plane ride over or as they’d navigated the streets of Barcelona. Tim didn’t know Spanish apart for the simplest of phrases but he would have been able to get by considering that the mission didn’t need much in term of communication with the locals. He was interested to see Catalan on the signs, with its strange confluence of Spanish and French. He had learned soon enough that Damian was fluent in Spanish and several other languages which was odd given the general impression that Damian had spent most of his life being locked up inside the League.

 

The hotel they were staying in turned out to be in the middle of a long row of buildings all built right up against each other. The lower level had a restaurant but once they took the elevator up and checked in they ended up in a hallway that was lined with a smooth wooden finish that ran the length of the hallway. The planks were wide and horizontal and probably faux, and the effect crossed the doors as well. If it weren’t for the silver horizontal handles and the inconspicuous silver room numbers posted nearby, the doors would have blended in with the hallway.

 

Once inside they found the room to be medium sized, with two twin beds and a table pushed in the far right corner near a television. The bathroom was immediate to their left while a small closet with space for luggage was to their right. Like the rest of the hotel, there was a distinctive modern flair to the decor.

 

When the door shut behind them, they each moved into the room and dropped their bags. Tim ended up by the far bed and took in the room thoughtfully. There was enough space on the table for the multiple computers he would have to set up but it wouldn’t leave much room for anything else. Still, it was their only option. He dragged the computer bag over to the table and unzipped it, getting to work unpacking and setting up the equipment.

 

Their mission wasn’t to act; it was simply to survey a location to ensure that Intel from a source was legit. That called for several days in a hotel in Barcelona while they kept an eye on the considerably more luxurious hotels that were not too far away.

 

They were trying to verify that members of the S.C.Y.T.H.E. or Factor 72 were actually in the area and they were supposed to identify who specifically was present.

 

Damian didn’t show much interest in the surveillance equipment or his bag. He walked over to the window and looked out, his eyes narrowed slightly in contemplation of something.

 

Tim glanced at him but then turned his attention fully to the equipment. When he was finished he shifted a chair so one of them could sit there observing all the screens at once and still keep an eye on the room and the door in case they had any unexpected visitors. The other chair was dragged next to one of the beds in the corner, to get it out of the way. After Tim verified that the surveillance equipment was working and that it was recording successfully to the remote server, he looked over at Damian. The senior agent hadn’t shown any more interest in the room, Tim or the mission than he had since they’d first been informed of their destination.

 

They had stayed in silence for so long that when Damian spoke, it was abrupt.

 

“I’m going for supplies.”

 

Tim looked at him in consideration and then nodded. “I’ll go with you.”

 

Damian turned to look at him, green eyes flicking up and down before he turned away again. “Your call.”

 

Tim grabbed his messenger bag and a hotel key on the way out, then paused only long enough to slip a Do Not Disturb tab on the door. He followed Damian on the way out of the building and into the streets below. There was a fair amount of people in the area even at mid-morning and he took a moment to get his bearings straight. He thought about the maps he’d studied of Barcelona on the plane ride over and wondered what street would be best to check.

 

He turned around to ask Damian if he knew of any grocery stores nearby but Damian wasn’t there. Tim looked through the crowd quickly but the other man was nowhere to be seen. He had disappeared without a word.

 

Lips thinning, Tim’s fingers tightened on the strap of his bag. He couldn’t help a moment of irritation with Damian for leaving so suddenly. If he hadn’t wanted Tim around, why couldn’t he have said so in the room? Tim could probably muddle his way through any interactions well enough but it was going to be difficult for him to do anything too complicated when he didn’t know the language. And he was supposed to be keeping an eye on Damian to make sure nothing happened. That was his charge as Damian’s partner.

 

Since he couldn’t do anything about it now that Damian was gone, he decided to go about his own business. He headed toward Carrer de Mallorca to see if he could find anything there.

 

Tall buildings lined the streets, many six stories or more, with balconies from almost every window. The style was reminiscent of row houses back in the United States, with buildings built right up against one another and only occasional gaps in between.

 

Unlike the concrete sidewalks Tim was accustomed to back home, most of the sidewalks were stone or at least had a design imprinted on them. It was the middle of the day and people were everywhere. The intersections were large and wide, and short cars seemed to be the vehicles of choice. People parked them haphazardly, sometimes double parking. Scooters and mopeds were driven up onto the sidewalks and parked diagonally like impromptu parking lots.

 

Small stores were scattered on the first floors of the buildings, while the upper levels largely seemed to be places for people to stay or live. The buildings were all different colors; tans and yellows and teal-greens. The architecture was intricate in some areas, with designs built into the building and trim work that was reminiscent of filigree. A few of the stores were closed with metal doors pulled down that were splattered with graffiti.

 

As he walked, Tim found his gaze straying up the buildings, studying details here and there. It had been years since he’d thought about it, but he’d always had an interest in architecture and history. He liked to see the imprint of time on buildings, and the influence of the age on the construction itself.

 

He could see spires rising in the distance and at their sight, all annoyance with Damian was forgotten, as were his intentions to get supplies and head back as soon as possible.

 

The huge, intricate design of the Sagrada Familia rose like a sentinel in the middle of the city. Tim’s steps slowed as he approached and his eyes drifted up higher and higher, taking in the sheer size and presence of the Roman Catholic church. In some ways, it was reminiscent of a castle, with several spires and a sprawling footprint.

 

People were crowded around it, craning their necks to try to stare up as far as they could. The building dwarfed everything around it. Every facade was completely covered with intricate details. Statues, reliefs, and scenes were built into it and construction scaffolding could barely be seen on another side. The stained glass windows were made with shades of bright colors like teals, pale blues, and near-yellows that stood out against the light brown building.

 

Tim started walking a slow circuit around the Sagrada Familia, feeling a sense of wonder rekindle that he’d thought long gone. In school, he’d once written a paper on Antoni Gaudí. As a child, repeated sickness had caused Gaudí to spend a lot of time alone with nature. Some people felt that such a connection had inspired his later architectural style.

 

To Tim, there was no doubt that there was a lot more flow, interest and detail in Gaudí’s designs than many others Tim had seen. He enjoyed the way Gaudí made buildings seem like they came alive; perhaps because, to Tim, whether something was living or not didn’t change its presence. He’d felt the ghosts of his past haunting his home too often not to feel drawn to old buildings and places that felt like they were built for more than structure.

 

Walking around Sagrada Familia, Tim was struck even more in person than he had been through the pictures with how complicated Gaudí’s vision had been. Although Tim was not religious and didn’t care either way about that aspect of the work, he couldn’t deny the magnitude of the design when he was standing there. It felt like there were hardly any blank places on the entirety of the building; everything was lines and movement and stories spelled out in figurines and symbols. Even the base of a column he passed had a turtle carved into it, as if it were supporting the column stretching high above it.

 

Tim felt the weight of history. The church had been started back in 1882 and was finished in 2026. That was 144 years of history stretching out in front of him in the form of a magnificent structure. It still amazed Tim that the Sagrada Familia hadn’t been affected much by the war. There were signs of destruction but the people had attempted to fix them as best as they could. In Tim’s opinion, the church was in an amazing state despite its age. It had been Tim’s hope since first learning of the Sagrada Familia that he would live to see it someday. Since he’d joined the League, he didn’t know if that hope was fruitless after all. He’d thought he would die before he had the chance.

 

Still, standing there at the base of a monument of history, Tim felt grounded somehow. How many people had stood there over the decades, watching those spires grow taller and taller? Watching those scenes get cut into stone? How many generations had been there, and how many more would there be to come?

 

He spent some time around the Sagrada Familia but after a point all it did was make an artist’s itch in the far back of his mind wish that he had his camera with him, wishing to forever burn the scene into paper for him to keep safe. And for all that he was interested in this, it wasn’t what he was here for. After what felt like far too short of a time, he made himself regrettably pull away and go in search of supplies.

 

By the time he returned to the room, he had a bag of food that was as close to his special diet as he could manage. He also had picked up a bit of a headache from trying to converse with people in English and bits of Spanish he’d picked up while the other person rattled off Spanish as if they were competing for auctioneer of the month.

 

As the door swung shut behind him he glanced over and saw Damian sitting on the bed as calmly as if it had been their plan to split up all along. The senior agent had a bottle of chocolate milk on the end table next to him, a bag of pastries open on his lap and a box of cereal in his hand. There was a canvas bag sitting on the floor by his bed that Tim could only assume held the rest of the items he’d purchased.

 

“Took you long enough,” Damian commented idly, as he chewed what appeared to be a cream filled fried pastry.

 

Tim chose to ignore that and flicked his gaze along Damian’s choices of sustenance instead. “Those are your supplies?”

 

Damian shrugged and licked some of the thick cream from where it had gotten on the side of his hand. “What should I get? Rations and bottled water? We’re not exactly preparing for a battle in the trenches.”

 

Tim made a noncommittal noise and passed by Damian’s canvas bag on his way to his bed. Inside the bag, he saw some bottles of water and milk, chips, a box of what looked like little sausages wrapped in pastry buns, and even more boxes of cereal. They had a microwave and small fridge so Damian would be able to cool or reheat as he pleased, but Tim still fought the urge to shake his head to himself.

 

He set down his own bag, containing milk for the protein shake powder he’d brought from the States, a rotisserie chicken, and a large side of rice. He’d looked over the menus at various restaurants and although he’d determined that he would likely end up buying paella and sarsuela at some point, the fridge wasn’t large enough to keep enough food for their entire time in Spain. Since he’d needed to get back to the mission today, he’d decided to go the easy route and hope to get something more interesting in the following days.

 

He put some chicken and rice on a plate he’d bought and put the rest away in the fridge. He then settled down in the chair by the computers so he could keep an eye on the hotel while he ate. Still, he couldn’t help being distracted thinking about how completely unhealthily Damian was eating, and how thin he appeared to be.

 

“You weren’t assigned a diet?” he asked when the question wouldn’t leave his mind.

 

Damian took out another pastry and looked up. “Yes.”

 

A pause.

 

“Why, were you?”

 

“Yes.” Tim glanced at the pastry pointedly. “Mine didn’t include sweets, not that I’d have much interest in them in the first place.”

 

“Obviously I’m not following their guidelines.”

 

“Why not?”

 

Damian stared at him as he chewed, cream smeared across his mouth and smudged on the side of it. It shouldn’t have been possible to glare and eat like a child at the same time, but somehow Damian pulled it off. It almost seemed like he wouldn’t answer at all, but then after swallowing, he did.

 

“I don’t normally get to pick out any of my own food.”

 

“Why not?” Tim asked again.

 

Damian arched an eyebrow as if the answer should be obvious. “I’m not allowed off the compound.”

 

Tim’s expression didn’t change although he hadn’t been aware of that aspect of Damian’s life. It made him wonder what else he may learn during this mission. “You’ve been off compound with me. Are you saying they don’t allow you off compound alone or for reasons other than a mission?”

 

“That’s what I’m saying,” Damian said blandly. He sucked cream off his fingertips again.

 

“Why?”

 

This earned him a completely flat and unimpressed stare. “Are you fucking oblivious, or what?”

 

“No,” Tim said calmly. He took a moment to chew a piece of chicken as he considered Damian. “But I haven’t been given much information despite the fact you’re my partner.”

 

“Huh.” Damian shoved the bag of pastries to the side and sat up to retrieve his chocolate milk from the nightstand. “I thought it would be obvious that I’m considered too deranged to be free to roam the streets on my own.”

 

“What is that assessment based on?”

 

“Surely you must have some clues.”

 

“I know there are rumors and I’ve heard some of them,” Tim allowed. “As for how much is truth and how much exaggeration, I don’t know. People often seem terrified of you for no reason, which leads me to distrust the validity of the rumors. So far, most of what I was informed of during training and what I’ve heard on the compound is of little use to me.”

 

Having finished his milk, Damian set the container down on the end table. He didn’t answer for a stretch. He lied down on the bed and rubbed his hand over his stomach idly. His eyes drifted closed and once again it seemed that he wouldn’t reply at all. But after a breath, he spoke flatly.

 

“They’re not all rumors.”

 

And it was clear that the discussion was closed.

 

Tim wondered what that meant. The comment did nothing to help him understand how many of the stories were false, or if any of them were false at all. If anything, it only generated more questions that he knew better than to ask. It seemed no one, not even Damian himself, was willing to give Tim a straight answer when it came to the mysteries and misinformation that surrounded the man like smoke.

 

Rather than ponder something that would ultimately only frustrate him, he returned to his job. He finished his cooling meal while he watched the computer screens for signs of Factor 72’s movements.

 

The days bled into each other fairly quickly. Tim’s eyes began to burn from staring at the screens for too long but he knew he had to do it. If he didn’t, Damian certainly wouldn’t and the last thing Tim needed was to fail this simple of a mission.

 

Because of that, he was hesitant to leave the room even to get food. When he ran low on chicken and rice, he asked Damian to pick him up some food and was surprised when the other man actually did it. While Tim adhered to his strict diet, Damian continued to get whatever he felt like at the time. That seemed to be primarily snack foods, desserts and a lot of cereal. Tim didn’t think he’d seen Damian eat an actual meal once since they’d stepped foot in Spain.

 

While Tim fell into a routine of flicking his eyes between screens and trying to fend off growing headaches, Damian left the room at will. When he was around, he tended to be silent. One quirk Tim learned fairly quickly was that Damian apparently liked to work out. He would spend hours every day working out tirelessly, doing push-ups, pull-ups using a bar in the closet and sit-ups. During the more boring times of nothing happening on the surveillance, Tim found himself silently counting Damian’s repetitions while he still kept his eyes on the screen.

 

After a few days, Tim finally had to look away from the screens. He’d noticed some activity so far that seemed to imply there was some truth to the League’s suspicions but he didn’t have enough yet to make a call either way. There had been no interesting movement for hours and his eyeballs throbbed as if he hadn’t gotten any sleep in days. Which he hadn’t; not much, at least.

 

He leaned back in the chair and stretched, his fingers interlocking as he twisted his arms toward the ceiling. He rolled his neck and felt a few satisfying pops and then dropped back into the chair with a quiet sigh he couldn’t quite stifle. The wooden chair hadn’t been made for comfort for hours on end and it was starting to dig into his back uncomfortably.

 

He looked over at Damian, watching as he rose and fell during his pushups. His muscles stood out in stark relief along with his otherwise wiry body, and sweat glistened on him like a second skin. Droplets of it clung to the spikes of his short hair. Tim found himself unconsciously looking along the length of Damian’s body before he focused on his face.

 

Damian didn’t seem to notice Tim was in the room, which was nothing new. It didn’t bother Tim much since he preferred silence to slurs any day, and Damian at least didn’t seem to go out of his way to mock Tim unnecessarily. Or at least not when Tim was leaving him alone.

 

Still, after days of staring at the same hotel in the same few angles, he found himself wanting to talk. As unusual an urge that was for him, he had to acknowledge that he was still curious about Damian. They’d barely spoken since the abrupt end of the conversation on the first day and studying Damian was a welcome respite to the monotony of surveillance.

 

“Is that a daily regimen back home as well?”

 

“What?” was the distracted reply. Damian’s eyes rose to focus on him without pause in his movements.

 

“Your workout,” Tim said, gesturing to Damian as if the senior agent needed to look at himself for a visual aid. “You’re very dedicated. Is it a habit from home?”

 

One dark eyebrow arched at the word home. “Why do you want to know?”

 

Tim shrugged and turned the chair so he could look at Damian more easily without craning his already tired neck. “I just wondered.”

 

Damian held his gaze without halting. His arms moved up and down without pause, his muscles flexing and extending like well-oiled machines. “I do it multiple times a day.”

 

“You never grow tired?” Tim asked, watching Damian thoughtfully.

 

Damian stopped his repetitions and pushed himself into a standing position. He wasn’t wearing a shirt and the cotton pants he had on hung low on his hips before he tugged them up.

 

“Not particularly.”

 

Tim made a thoughtful noise. He got tired of working out after a couple of hours a day with breaks in between. Once Damian started he didn’t seem to stop, and he was at it much more intensely and much longer than Tim ever was. He didn’t know where Damian got the energy.

 

“Your stamina is impressive,” he commented.

 

There was a beat of silence and Damian said with a scoff, “I could say something, but I’ll refrain.”

 

Tim’s gaze lingered briefly on him, wondering whether that was a veiled insult.

 

Regardless, if that was Damian’s response to a compliment then Tim assumed they were done talking for the moment. He looked dismissively away, turning his attention to the laptops once more. He noticed Damian moving around and heard the bathroom door shut, followed by the muffled rush of water, but didn’t pay it any heed.

 

Many people came and went from the hotel but as had been too often the case, he didn’t see anyone of note in the crowd. There was a brief moment in which he thought there was something of import happening. There was a stir in the crowd near an outdoor cafe in front of the hotel. Several people moved back and there seemed to be some sort of fight occurring in the middle of it all. But when Tim switched to another view, he saw that it appeared to be nothing more than a jilted lover’s brawl.

 

A woman was sitting at a table looking shocked while two men grappled with each other. One of them wore clothes with a matching jacket on the chair still pulled out across the table from the woman. None of the people involved were on the League’s list and he didn’t see anyone using the fight as a distraction to slip by unnoticed. The police showed up fairly quickly but Tim had already returned to studying the other views.

 

Nothing else of interest occurred so when the bathroom door opened to a cloud of steam, Tim automatically glanced up. He’d intended to look away immediately but was unexpectedly caught by the sight of Damian, naked and still dripping with water from the shower.

 

He was holding a towel at his side but when he raised his arm, he used it to rub some of the water out of his hair instead of covering himself. His entire body was exposed, showing a variety of scars that marred his olive skin. There was a smattering of scars that were obviously gunshots, many thick welts, a nasty scar that Tim could see across Damian’s throat partially covered by the collar, and a startling scar that started at his pelvis and arched down to his groin.

 

Damian turned away towards the pack that lay on his bed and began going through it.

 

When he moved his hand, Tim caught the sight of the robin tattoo and the delicate arch of the words that curved around the pretty bird.

 

After going over it twice, he recognized the quote as one from Friedrich Nietzsche. ‘He who fights with monsters,’ Tim read silently. In his mind, he completed the quote. ‘ _He who fights with monsters should look to it that he himself does not become a monster; when you gaze long into the abyss the abyss also gazes into you_.’

 

He couldn’t help taking in Damian’s scars and tattoos along with his body itself.

 

Although Damian often walked around shirtless and wore low-riding pants, it was the first time Tim had seen the other man fully nude. He was thin in the waist but he was muscular, with broad shoulders that tapered into lean arms. When they’d been facing each other, Tim also hadn’t been able to help noticing that Damian was well-endowed. It all fell together to blend well with Damian’s deep voice and those striking green eyes, set in a well-balanced face.

 

None of what Tim saw surprised him. Every part of Damian’s body seemed to match what Tim was starting to associate with Damian as a person: attractive, unique, and with a hint of mystery.

 

More than anything, he wasn’t particularly thrilled with himself for noticing how attractive Damian was. It didn’t serve any purpose to note that. It wasn’t going to help him do his job. And considering the fact that they could hardly hold a conversation for longer than several minutes, whether or not Damian’s smooth voice fit the rest of him was completely irrelevant.

 

So he dismissed his reaction to Damian’s body, although he couldn’t help looking at the tattoo on Damian’s inner forearm again before he made himself look away. That tattoo was curious. Had Damian simply found the quote somewhere else and liked it or did it have a deeper meaning for the other man? Was it a reminder to never truly become a ‘monster’? From what Tim understood of Damian’s situation at the League, the quote certainly seemed appropriate. He was also curious about the scars, the nasty one arcing toward his groin in particular, but he doubted he would get a straight answer if he asked. Damian didn’t seem interested in sharing too much personal information most of the time.

 

Even so, Damian was more talkative now than he used to be, which led Tim to believe that the best way to make their partnership function on any level was to try to keep talking to the other man. Keep showing Damian that he didn’t care about anything except doing his job and treating Damian according to how Damian presented himself to him. If Damian ended up being an unrepentant sociopath then it may affect Tim’s view of the other man but for the moment he saw nothing to be afraid of. And certainly, nothing to make him treat Damian differently than anyone else.

 

“Are you going out?”

 

Damian tugged on a pair of jeans without putting on any underwear. “Yes.”

 

“Where are you going?”

 

Damian looked at him over his shoulder. He was wearing the same contemplative, narrow-eyed stare he always had when Tim questioned him about anything. It almost seemed like he was debating whether it was a genuine question of curiosity or if Tim was trying to get at something more.

 

“I don’t have a definite plan. I like to wander.”

 

Tim nodded. “Have you visited any of the tourist attractions?”

 

“Not intentionally,” was the slightly muffled answer as Damian pulled on a dark green t-shirt that appeared washed out and threadbare.

 

“Do you dislike tourist attractions or is there another reason you say that?”

 

Damian ran a hand through his hair after adjusting his shirt, and gave Tim another one of his long considering stares. It was difficult to tell what he was thinking or why such inane questions gave him pause sometimes.

 

“What’s with all of this small talk lately?” he asked finally.

 

“I get bored in the room,” Tim replied with a faint shrug. It wasn’t even untrue, although he did have the ulterior motive of feeling out Damian. “There hasn’t been much of interest on the surveillance and since I can’t leave, it makes me curious about the city and what you’ve been doing. So far I only briefly had the opportunity to visit the Sagrada Familia.”

 

“No one’s stopping you from going out. The equipment records everything.”

 

“If I don’t watch it now I’ll just have to watch it later. At least in real-time, if something happens I know if we need to do additional surveillance or tailing.”

 

“Suffer then,” Damian replied blandly. “Although I don’t know why you’re taking it this seriously. This mission is a joke. I’m not entirely sure why they keep babying you like this.”

 

“I couldn’t say,” Tim said unconcernedly. It wasn’t the first time Damian had said that about their missions. His gaze tracked along some movement on the right monitor and a faint frown pulled at the edges of his lips. “But if such a non-intensive mission were to fail I can’t imagine it would go over well. So regardless of the severity of the mission, I’m going to take it seriously.”

 

There was a light scoff as Damian put on his battered boots. “Doesn’t it bother you that this is all getting you nowhere?”

 

The comment caused Tim to look up at Damian. “In what way?”

 

Damian’s eyes flicked up from tying his boots, his lips pursed slightly as he looked at his would-be partner. After a moment he finished and stood, never taking his eyes off Tim. “How do you think this is going to end?”

 

“My partnership with you? Or my time at the League?”

 

That earned him a humorless smirk. “Isn’t it the same thing? You’re here because of me.”

 

Tim had to acknowledge that with a nod. He leaned back and watched Damian impassively. “Then, to answer your question, it will likely end when I die on a mission. Chances are that will happen sooner rather than later.”

 

The smirk had already disappeared and the corners of Damian’s mouth turned down slightly as his vivid green eyes narrowed. A flash of something crossed his face but it was difficult to discern if it was irritation, disgust, or something entirely different.

 

Whatever the case was, Damian turned away from him. He started for the door and paused with his hand on the doorknob. His fingers grazed it but before it turned, he looked back at Tim again.

 

“Don’t you have anything better to fucking do other than babysit and eventually get killed by some psycho?”

 

“No,” Tim said honestly. “I don’t.”

 

Damian gave him a long considering look before shaking his head and walking out the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next chapter:**
> 
> Having not anticipated that response, he answered without thinking to hide that he was caught off guard. “Oh. Alright.”
> 
> The response brought a loud laugh from Stephanie. The shorter agent beamed, looking pleased with Tim's reaction. “I'll get you to loosen up. We can watch Gundam together and eat nachos. But I have to jam at the moment so I'll talk about that more later.”
> 
> It was probably just as well that they ended up parting after that because Tim didn't know what to say to that. He didn't know what Gundam was, although he'd seen the name written on one of the posters. Whatever it was, he couldn't imagine sitting around eating nachos watching it. Things like that seemed so far removed from him that he didn't even consider them.


	9. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rolls* Finally! Finally, chapter 8 is here! Hopefully it gives you some answers (And also new questions to ponder *winks*) One of the longest chapters so far. I hope the wait was worth it.
> 
> Before we begin the chapter though. Please repeat after me: ALL HAIL TIM STEPH BONDING TIME! ALL HAIL!
> 
> Warning: Contains ~~(less explicit than canon)~~ non-con elements *glares at Nightwing Comic* I'm looking at _you_ , Nightwing #19. And I'm judging so hard right now.

The League gained a new light through Stephanie’s talk as the R&D agent led Tim down the white halls. So far, Tim had managed to gather that Stephanie disliked the plain white walls and would much rather the League painted it a different color, perhaps something more cheerful, pastel theme, maybe. They were heading toward Steph’s apartment, and half way through the conversation about wall color, Stephanie had started complaining about how much she wished she could paint her own wall a different color: eggplant with strung up fairy lights and paper cut out of bats as decoration.

 

Somehow, that topic then shifted the sheer amount of the League’s employees living on the compound.

 

It wasn’t mandatory to live in the compound but Steph seemed to imply that the League preferred it if they did, especially in the cases of field agents. It was most likely to avoid civilians asking too many questions about the nature of the League and their work.

 

The both of them walked at a leisure pace. What had begun as an explanation about where Stephanie lived was turned into an impromptu tour and a full-blown history lesson of the compound. It was just like Steph to go off on a complete tangent but she also had a wealth of knowledge about the League that no one else had bothered to share with Tim.

 

There were four main residential buildings grouped on the opposite side of the compound from the Tower. They were fifteen floors each and contained lounge areas and mostly single bedroom apartments due to the unlikelihood of an agent ever having a family and continuing in their position. According to Stephanie, about 90% of the roughly 250 field agents, analysts and R&D agents lived there except for officers and special cases that had separate living assignments in smaller buildings.

 

Steph also explained that Damian was one of those ‘special cases’. He lived in a small building that was often reserved for agents with psychiatric problems who needed extra surveillance or new agents who hadn’t adapted to the new working environment yet, agents with bending behavior or sometimes even informants who needed asylum from the outside world after helping the League.

 

“A lot of the higher ranking peeps live off-compound, though,” Steph continued as she shut the door behind them. “I don’t think I know one rank 9 fieldie who lives in the dorms but I could be wrong. Most of them kind of grow out of the whole thing and the fact that they make a megaton more money than anyone else helps.”

 

She tossed her backpack on what appeared to be an oversized peach color couch with multiple throw pillows of various colors ranging from bright orange to bright blue. It stood out as the single least colorful item in the room full of mismatched furniture and electric knickknacks. On the corner of the living room stood one mannequin dressed in a purple-ish superhero-theme outfit with a flowing cape. Her face covered by a half face black mask, and she wore black gloves. There was also a utility belt wrapped around her waist and at her feet, there was a pair of black over the knee laced boots.

 

Tim averted his gaze. Stephanie’s bookcase was filled to the brim with mangas, meticulously sorted according to the names of the artists. Her walls had enough anime posters to cover an entire convention stand. There was also a variety of graphic and science fiction novels mixed with huge tomes about mathematics, programming and computer languages.

 

“Sorry about the mess,” Stephanie said absently, tossing her crumbled jacket on one of the bean bag chairs. She wandered over her desk and leaned over to turn on her PC. Like the bookcase, the desk was piled high with stacks of books, folders and CD cases. Tim spotted a makeup organizer being utilized as a flash drives and microchips organizer instead.

 

“It’s fine,” Tim said.

 

The R&D agent sat at her desk and typed in a series of numbers and letters, most likely the login code. Tim politely didn’t pay attention to the keystrokes. “I didn’t think you would actually take up on my offer. So, what made you want to know more about him?”

 

Tim shrugged and found an empty chair near the desk. He sat down, his eyes straying across a poster along the wall nearby with some sort of mechanical robot that appeared to have wings. He briefly considered the logic of putting wings on a robot; wouldn’t they just get in the way?

 

He dismissed the thought as he turned his attention back to Stephanie while he considered the question. Truthfully, his interest in Damian had taken him a little by surprise as well. He’d planned to continue to work with Damian slowly, determining what worked with the younger man and what didn’t, while staying emotionally uninvolved throughout. But Damian kept doing or saying things that caught Tim’s attention.

 

One moment in particular had plagued Tim as the week had dragged on. He’d expected Damian to be smug about Tim’s acknowledgment of his own impending death when that had come up but instead, Damian had looked annoyed. Why was that? It was such a strange response, especially from a man who otherwise seemed to delight in pointing out the flaws in others’ plans and how futile everything was. He didn’t seem to particularly care for Tim as a partner either, so shouldn’t he be pleased about that topic of conversation?

 

It was yet another oddity of Damian’s. And somewhere along the line, during days of studying the other man both discreetly and openly between hours of dull, monotonous surveillance, Tim’s interest had been piqued. What was Damian thinking? What was the reason for those strange reactions? Why was he so distrustful of even completely innocuous questions?

 

What was the truth and what was misleading?

 

“I find myself growing curious about him,” was all Tim said aloud.

 

“Shittles,” Stephanie suddenly exclaimed, staring at her computer screen with a frown. “I forgot to send in my supply card! Anyway, why? What changed?” The last part was asked somewhat cautiously.

 

“Nothing dramatic.” Tim settled back in the chair and looked at Stephanie thoughtfully. “He continues to be contradictory. I’ve been increasingly wondering which parts are true and which aren’t.” He paused and then added, “One comment in particular that he made caught my attention. When I asked about the rumors he said not all were untrue. It made me wonder what he meant.”

 

“Ah,” Stephanie paused, turning around to face Tim. “ _That_.” She reclined back in her chair. Her mouth twisted to the side as she rocked herself back and forth thoughtfully. “If I tell you stuff, you aren’t going to somehow use it against him, right?”

 

Tim frowned and lowered his eyebrows, one of the few true expressions he’d shown the R&D agent. “No. Why would I? It would serve me no purpose. I have no ill will against him; I’m just trying to understand him.”

 

“Good.” Steph brightened and grinned at Tim. “No offense, but I haven’t met one person besides Clark, Dick, and Jason that actually wouldn’t use something against him. I didn’t mean like, you’re an ass or something. I was just checking, especially ‘cause he still hasn’t been the best partner.”

 

“Whether or not he’s a good partner doesn’t matter as long as it doesn’t negatively affect me,” Tim said unconcernedly. He shifted, feeling something dig into his back. He sat forward, looking behind himself as he continued absently, “I don’t really care enough about anything to be malicious about it.”

 

“Righto.”

 

Stephanie stopped rocking back and forth and steadied herself, leaning forward to peer at Tim intently as Tim pulled a small figurine out from behind the small of his back. He paused, his fingers curled around the figure and gaze catching on Stephanie’s face.

 

At first, he thought Steph was eyeing him so seriously because he’d leaned against a well-loved toy. He realized after a moment that it wasn’t that at all.

 

Steph’s blue eyes narrowed and her youthful face looked almost comical as she scrunched it together to look serious. “So… do you want to know a lot or a little? I may make lunch while we talk if it’s a lot.” She offered at last.

 

Once Tim realized he wasn’t in trouble for the little plastic figurine of a blonde in a sailor outfit in his hand, he relaxed minutely. It was probably silly to have been worried about offending Stephanie over that but Steph was one of the few people who took the time to give him any information and who talked to him like normal. He didn’t relish the idea of losing that.

 

“I’d prefer more information rather than less,” he said, setting the figurine on a pile of books nearby. Belatedly, the rest of what Stephanie said filtered through his mind. “So if you want to make food first, that’s fine.”

 

“Coolio.”

 

Stephanie got up from her chair and moved across the room to the attached kitchen that was separated from the main room only by a counter area. “Do you want anything? I forgot to send in my supply card so all I have is like, sandwich fixings and junk.”

 

Tim tilted his body more toward the kitchen and considered asking if he had coffee, but then decided against it. Since he wasn’t particularly hungry or thirsty he didn’t want to take more supplies from Steph. “I’m fine, thank you.”

 

The room filled with crinkling sounds as Stephanie removed a large bag of pretzels from a cabinet. She put it on the counter and opened her refrigerator, digging around until she leaned back with her arms full of pre-sliced cold cuts. “Mike’s has the best cold cuts, FYI. Anyway, what do you wanna know first?”

 

“Which stories are true?”

 

Stephanie hesitated for only a moment before putting two slices of bread on a plate.

 

“Well, what all have you heard or been told?”

 

“I know about his partners and that he’s injured people on the compound in the past. They told me during training that he was accused of some crimes in the city but the League demanded redaction. I don’t know whether he actually committed any crimes or what specifically he was alleged to have done.” Tim paused, going over the different rumors he’d heard, and ultimately shook his head.

 

“I suppose in general a clarification of what he’s actually done would be of use. So many stories sound like exaggerations, but he’s strong and fast enough that they could potentially be true. So it’s difficult to know what sort of person I’m working with.”

 

“Well when you put it like that, it makes total sense. They probably should have cleared that all up for you anyway but I guess they didn’t wanna bias you one way or the other by going into detail about shit that they consider ancient history. But I dunno, that’s kind of tardo if you ask me. ‘Cause now you don’t even know what to believe at all.”

 

Stephanie slathered her bread with mustard and slapped a few pieces of lunch meat on it. She regarded the sandwich for a moment before taking a large bite out of it, smearing mustard over her lips. She glanced at Tim before grabbing a towel paper and wiped her mouth.

 

Tim allowed a small hum. “It would be quite beneficial if you could tell me more about his brothers as well. The General implied that we would be all in the same unit at some point in the future and I’d prefer if I have the full information instead of just rumors like the cases with Damian.” Tim didn’t know if he would live long enough to that point but he would prefer to be well prepared.

 

Stephanie’s face lit up at that. “Oh yes! I heard about that. Dick and Jason are so cool, and they totally kickass, you will like them.” She grinned. “Okay, so let’s talk about their relationship first. ‘cause that will tie in with some of the stuff that happened in Dami’s past incidents.”

 

“So, like, years ago, way before I was even born, back in the days where the General was still a fieldie. He and another level 10 agent, Bruce Wayne, were partners. They totally made history and everything. So while Clark moved up to become the General, Bruce Wayne didn’t. He remained a fieldie, one of the best that the League has ever had, arguably even the best. No one knew why he didn’t want to move up the rank actually. They said that there was this huge fallout between him and General Clark but… there wasn’t any proof. All I know for sure is that he eventually left. He still did the missions sent to him, but he never showed up anymore.”

 

“Seven years later, a teenager showed up at the League saying that he has been trained by _the_ Bruce Wayne himself. That was the first of the three Wayne kids, Dick Grayson.” Stephanie allowed a dramatic pause in her story while she took another bite of her sandwich. “Dick is really friendly, and he makes horrible puns, well… horribly funny in my opinion, but not in the public’s general opinion, unfortunately. He likes to sing, too. I heard that while he’s on missions, he’s very focused, a natural leader and all that. Also, you don’t want to piss him off. He has a really sharp mouth on him. I saw him reducing another agent to tears once because the idiot insulted his brother while he’s in hearing range. Anyway, back to the story.”

 

Stephanie began to pace back and forth in her small living room, her movements jerked once in a little while as she seemed to remember that she still had a sandwich to finish.

 

“Of course, everyone was skeptical about him. So he asked them if he could talk to the General and the Marshall. There weren’t any official records but after that conversation, they both agreed to test him to check his abilities.” She said, sitting back down. “It was a mock mission that was supposed to take at least a week to complete. He did it in three days and with such a convincing result he passed with flying colors and was enlisted as an official field agent. He made it to level 10 in…” Stephanie scrunched her eyebrows. “Six or seven years, I believe. Youngest level 10 agent at that time. I have his files on my flash drive.”

 

“Okay, so that was the first Wayne. The second one is Jason Todd. Oh man, he’s… he’s aggressive. Imagine Dami, but taller, a lot more trigger happy, and scarily smart, too. I mean, people tend to think that big, tall and buff dudes carrying guns tend to be thugs, you know? But not him, nope, he can quote _Nobody’s Boy_ , _War and Peace_ , and _the Hunchback of Notre Dame_ like they are the news he’s just read. Crazy love for the classics.”

 

“So, four or five years after Dick started working at the League full time, Jason sort of… um… he stormed in the League, demanding to join the League, and then same story with Dick, only this time, because there were two really good agents carrying the name Wayne already, people… people expected Jason to live up to that, and they didn’t seem all that surprised when he did. I mean, I guess I can understand their point of view, but still, they are _stereotyping_. They should be impressed with Jason because he’s a good agent, not because he’s a Wayne.” Stephanie rambled. “So yeah, Jason became a rank 10 agent a few years apart from Dick.”

 

“And then, alas, there was Dami. He’s the only kid that’s actually biologically related to agent Bruce Wayne.” Stephanie glanced at Tim, studying his expression. Finally, she began. “So... let’s see. Well, I guess… I mean people were freaked out by him from the start just because when he came here he was only ten and already like, better than everyone else at his job. Even better than Dick and Jason when they first started and they didn’t even come to the League at the age of ten. He was always a little quick to react, always a little out of control when he lost his temper bad, so people always kind of treated him like he was a mutant. The first big thing that set everyone off though was the thing that happened down in Blüdhaven like six years ago or something.”

 

“Blüdhaven?” Tim spoke for the first time since the start of Stephanie’s ramble. That neighborhood housed some of his worst and best memories. “What happened?”

 

Stephanie swallowed and pulled herself up onto one of the barstools. “He was coming back from a mission… this was before the whole partner thing. Actually... it was the catalyst of the whole partner thing, I think. And he was walking through Blüdhaven back when it was still a complete shit hole, you know? Back when the scavengers would be out in droves and stuff?”

 

Tim nodded, remembering well the way Blüdhaven had been.

 

Steph jumped off the stool and went to the refrigerator again, removing a container of milk. She couldn’t seem to sit still at all. “He came across this girl being brutally beaten in an alleyway for stealing a load of bread and he killed her attackers. But the girl got so frightened of him that she started screaming and drew the attention of the scavengers nearby who then thought it was Dami who started it all. They attacked him and he went nutso and took a lot of them out. Then the cops came but he was still in like, automatic defense kill mode and didn’t stop. It was pretty bad.”

 

Tim’s eyebrows rose slightly. They’d told him that Damian could get distracted by civilians and it was partially for that reason that a partner was necessary. But Tim hadn’t taken from that, or even Damian’s attitude with the way he dealt with his partners, that he would care about a stranger.

 

“Why would he care what happened to her? Did he know her?”

 

“No, not at all.”

 

Tim gave Stephanie a slightly strange look. “Then why did he interfere?”

 

Stephanie raised her eyebrows, talking around a mouthful of food. “It was a child getting beaten within an inch of her life by grown men... any decent person would have interfered.”

 

Tim considered that, studying Steph for a moment. He still didn’t feel like he understood what the distinctions were for Damian; what made him stop one incident but let others pass him by without a care.

 

He wondered why a man who’d seemed irritated and defensive over Tim inquiring about his health and who kept reminding Tim that he was likely to die soon, which probably would be in part because Damian didn’t help like he was supposed to, would then turn around and stop someone from being hurt when it had nothing to do with him.

 

It wasn’t that Tim thought the girl should have been hurt or that the men had been right, but objectively speaking, she would have lived. What was the distinction for Damian between actively stopping something a person would live through but may hurt them, and passively letting others die or, in some cases, killing them himself? Death was more permanent than pain, which Tim knew well enough a person could live through whether or not they wanted to. So what was the catalyst for Damian’s actions? Why bother protecting a stranger?

 

“I’m trying to understand why someone who seems content with letting people die around him, and who doesn’t seem to like anyone, would bother to stop someone from being hurt,” Tim explained, shaking his head slightly. “You say that any decent person would interfere but I don’t know him well enough to understand his motivations or what sort of person he is. So far it seems that his judgment of whether a person deserves death is based on whether they committed any wrongs against him or he feels it’s karmic retribution. That implies he could be arrogant and feels that he can judge a person’s worth for life or death based on his criteria.”

 

Tim paused, his eyebrows drawing down in thought. “But that seems incongruous with a person who would care about strangers being hurt. I haven’t heard of him helping anyone at the League and I can’t imagine there are never any wrongs committed here. So what causes him to help one person and not another? Is it based on the type of crime committed or the age of the victim? Has he ever helped other people aside from that girl or did something about her specifically speak to him?”

 

Stephanie shrugged and held up a finger. Her mouth was completely full and an attempt to talk around the food failed. She picked up his glass of milk and swallowed with a lip smacking sound.

 

“Well, I dunno. No one knows what makes him tick. All I did was compile data and do a bunch of guesswork after he was assigned to the unit. But I do know that he considers just about everyone at the League his enemy so that doesn’t help any would be victims ‘round these parts, know what I mean?”

 

She wiped her mouth and stared at her food pensively. “Like, except me, Clark and his brothers, I don’t really know anyone who doesn’t consider him to be not... some kind of freak. And it’s always been that way, even from the start. It’s been years of people hating him and him hating epically in return. So yeah, I dunno. There’s been conjecture by his doctors over that incident, that he helped that girl because she was just a kid and was helpless and it brought up stuff from his own childhood. In the end, though, they think he went berserk because he was so outnumbered and felt super threatened.”

 

“His own childhood?”

 

“Yep. All sorts of issues there.”

 

Stephanie hopped off her chair and began cleaning up the crumbs that had accumulated on the counter. She then stopped in mid-swipe, shook her head and instead began rummaging through her fridge to pull out an apple.

 

“What happened?” Tim pressed when it became clear Stephanie wasn’t going to elaborate.

 

Having an extended discussion with Steph apparently involved many interruptions and long pauses. She looked constantly distracted, as if she was supposed to be doing several different things at once and was having a hard time keeping them in order and getting them all done at the same time as talking.

 

Stephanie paused yet again and began to peel the apple with expert flicks of her wrist. Only after she had finished it that she picked up where she had left.

 

“There’s a lot of conjecture ‘bout it,” she said around a bite of the apple. “His earlier doctors thought he’d been badly abused as a young child whenever he lived with his mother. Then his father, you know, Bruce, took him on and trained him to be a killer from like age five or something, so I’m sure whatever method he used wasn’t exactly... child protective services friendly.”

 

Tim was silent a moment. In that context, Damian’s actions made sense to an extent. If he’d been abused since childhood he would likely have a great distrust for anyone else, especially in the League where he’d been repeatedly treated poorly. He thought it could also make sense if Damian had identified with the defenseless young girl.

 

Still, although it had been referenced during training that Damian occasionally had psychotic episodes, Tim didn’t understand much about them.

 

“You said he went berserk and that he was in automatic defense mode. What does that mean exactly?”

 

“Didn’t they tell you anything?”

 

“No,” Tim said, shaking his head. “They told us that he occasionally has psychotic breakdowns and the triggers are unknown. We were given the remote for his collar and were informed that it was because of his unpredictability that the League required that he have a partner.”

 

Stephanie made a thoughtful sound and studied Tim for a moment, toying with the end of her long blond hair. “I guess it makes sense a tiny bit... they didn’t want to make it all about what bad stuff has happened.”

 

“Most likely,” Tim agreed. “But I want to understand what I’m dealing with. I don’t want to only be given the convenient information.”

 

The R&D agent made a noncommittal sound and moved around the counter to stand on the opposite side. She leaned against it, crossing her arms over her chest as she watched Tim thoughtfully. It was obvious that she still wasn’t entirely trustful of Tim which wasn’t too surprising considering the previous additions to the partnership with Damian. But at least Stephanie seemed willing to cooperate.

 

“So…”

 

She stopped, seemed to rethink whatever she was going to say and shifted slightly.

 

“I’m going through everything in my head... And, as far as I know, there are five documented occurrences of him having those episodes. Like, not him having them in general but they were documented because something bad happened as a result. I’m sure it’s happened other times but nothing dramatic came of it. Anyways, two were before the Blüdhaven thing and two were after. I mean there’s a difference between him getting sick of someone and beating their ass and going into automatic kill mode, like I was saying.”

 

“What’s the difference?”

 

Stephanie shrugged and walked over to finally sit next to Tim. She crossed one knee over the other and swung her foot idly against the sofa. “One is the normal reaction of someone who has been trained to be a lethal weapon since like, before puberty but the other... the other is like, Dami becoming someone else. It looks a lot like he completely shuts down mentally and only sees everyone around him as a threat and he starts just… well, killing. Or torturing. Just going mental with violence until everything around him stops moving. Usually, it takes someone sedating him to get him to stop and when he comes to, he’s fine.”

 

Tim’s eyebrows twitched up faintly. The League truly must not care about Damian’s partners to not specify that such unbridled violence was a possibility. Especially if the triggers were unknown. “You mentioned he targets those he sees as a threat. Does that mean he only attacks aggressors or does he attack everyone in the vicinity?”

 

This time Stephanie stopped and rolled her eyes upward as though she were reading an imaginary panel screen as she searched for an accurate answer. After a moment she nodded decisively. “I’m not sure really. I’d think you’d be okay if you just stayed away, but there’s no way to be sure.”

 

“Interesting,” Tim said mostly to himself, and relaxed back into the chair. “And the other times? What happened?”

 

This time the hesitation was longer and Steph fiddled with her anime shirt, pulling at the cartoonish drawing of a cat, looking around the room as if for guidance. She didn’t seem to believe the League’s tactic to leave Tim in the dark was the wisest, but she also didn’t know if telling him was a good choice either.

 

She stood up again and began pacing the living room, picking up her little plastic figurine and playing with it. “Well, the first two happened, like, when he first got here. The first one was because some of the older… well, you have to understand, Tim. Even here, some people have a real stupid ass bully mentality. Some of the guards and lower ranked field agents are especially bad. They didn’t like that this ten-year-old kid was better than them at their job, right? So they decided to mess with him one day after he’d been in the training room; push him around, surround him, see what he’s made of… meanwhile, it’s all on camera. He had a bad episode and put three in the infirmary and cracked two of their necks. He was ten and like almost a hundred pounds skinnier than any of those dudes easily.”

 

That was the first concrete example Tim had been given for why someone within the League may fear Damian. No one had likely expected Damian to be capable of such a feat. “Was anyone punished for the incident?”

 

“The guards were. That was the first time something bad happened and since they provoked him outright, it wasn’t really his fault. But then everyone knew something wasn’t right with him so that’s when a lot of rumors started.”

 

Stephanie frowned and sat down again, this time on a little ottoman near the couch.

 

She placed her figurine on it and stared. “I remember when I heard about that, I got really scared of him. Luthor, at first, didn’t know what to do with Dami. He thought since he was so young and both of his brothers were high-rank fieldies that went on extended missions regularly, maybe he should be his ward and live with him like I did with Clark but after that, he moved him out and put him in this room on the Fourth. Not a real cell but... a crappy room that was monitored all the time.”

 

Tim noted that between the information he’d been given by his mother and Stephanie; it meant that Damian had spent the majority of his life at the League locked up.

 

Something else caught Tim’s attention from Steph’s explanation; an oddity that stood out. “You lived with General Kent?” he asked curiously.

 

“Oh. Right.” Steph rattled off the story without blinking, as if it didn’t bother her to speak of it. “My parents were a part of the League. My dad was a field agent and my mother was an analyst. They both died from the lung sickness when I was young and Clark took me in. I’d grown up on the compound so he basically knew I’d always be a part of it in some way. It helped that by that time, when I was six, I’d already tested beyond high school level. So everyone else knew I was useful and stuff.” Tim’s eyebrow rose.

 

“Impressive.”

 

Stephanie made a face. “Not really. It’s not like I worked for it. I was basically born this way. I could read before most babies learned how to speak.”

 

“The fact that it’s a natural talent doesn’t make it less impressive,” Tim replied with a shrug. “It just means that you’ll be ahead of others and have the ability to go farther than anyone else.”

 

There was no response to that. Stephanie didn’t seem to want to talk too much about the fact that she was a genius or anything to do with her IQ. In fact, the topic seemed unpleasant to her as a whole. So she just shrugged her shoulders and picked up another figurine, this time a robot, tossing it up and down.

 

She looked much younger than her twenty years at that moment, far younger than Tim who was still a teenager. There was something about Steph’s animated face and small stature that made her look like an adolescent instead of a grown up.

 

“The next incident,” she said, switching back to the previous topic, “was during his rank 10 training. It isn’t as well documented because the training is top secret. I couldn’t find video or specifics anywhere. Just that one of the people involved with the training got mangled.”

 

“You never found out what started it?”

 

“Nope. Not one trace. It’s referenced as a date in one of his doctor’s files and I traced it to the time he was in his rank 10 training towards the end, but that’s it.”

 

“Hmm.” Tim wondered about the secrecy of that but ultimately decided it wasn’t terribly surprising. Still, it was unfortunate, because he’d been paying attention to what had preceded Damian’s episodes.

 

“And the other two times you mentioned?”

 

This time Stephanie visibly squirmed. “I dunno if I should talk about it... It’s pretty bad. I dunno.”

 

That was an interesting reaction. “What are you worried about?”

 

Steph sighed explosively and jumped up again, going over to the kitchen area and grabbing the bag of pretzels. “Nothing, really. I dunno… it’s just a sore topic. Most people super hate him hardcore for it.”

 

“Without knowing what it is I can’t say for certain, but I doubt it will drastically change my opinion.” Tim paused, watching Stephanie thoughtfully. He wondered what was so much worse than Damian mangling people or killing a number of civilians. “If you have the information in some form you can simply give to me rather than having to tell me; that would work too.”

 

There was a pause and Steph shook her head. “No, it’s better if I tell you. There’s backstory involved and stuff. A real drama fit for TV. But, now that you mention it, I did compile all my data on a flash drive. Whenever I knew he was put in the Court unit, I started studying him a lot. Well, a lot more…”

 

She munched on a pretzel and studied Tim with round blue eyes. “Well, it starts with Catalina Flores, really. She and Jonathan Kent, the General’s son, were best friends.” Tim silently noted that his psychiatrist apparently was in on this secret, which was interesting.

 

“They grew up here like me and both studied to be shrinks. After what happened, Jon abandoned that job for a while. So, okay, after the Blüdhaven thing, Dami was put in isolation on the Fourth for two years. When talk started about evaluating him to be let out, Catalina pushed to be his doctor. Problem was, she had been infatuated with his brother Dick back in the day and she kind of got infatuated with Dami because he looked just like him. Bruce Wayne liked to collect kids that looked like him.”

 

That last tidbit of information stood out to Tim; he hadn’t realized that Damian looked like his deceased father. Maybe that fit into why the General seemed interested in supporting Damian.

 

He nodded, silently encouraging Stephanie to continue.

 

Steph finished chewing and extracted another pretzel, studying it. “So, actually Catalina wasn’t all there herself. She used her position to put the moves on Dami after giving him drugs that made him loopy and he went berserk and, well, now she lives up in the Arkham asylum and is catatonic.”

 

Tim watched Stephanie in contemplation as he took in that information. “Was she threatening or controlling just prior to his episode?”

 

“Nope. Just taking advantage of the situation. She was asking him questions about his childhood at the same time. There’s a video and everything; I’m not sure what triggered it really.”

 

Tim considered that a moment and then asked the other question he’d been wanting to verify. “You said earlier that he was abused as a child. Was it sexual abuse?”

 

Stephanie made a sour face. “Not sure, he never went into details about the time before his dad took him in. No one knows because he doesn’t talk about it though… apparently, when he first got here he implied enough to make it sound like most of the abuse had happened while he’d been with her.”

 

She started to open her mouth to say more but before she could, her cell phone trilled. One hand disappeared into one of the many pockets on her baggy jeans and Stephanie glanced at the screen of the phone.

 

“Ahh, I have to get back to the Tower.”

 

Tim nodded and stood. “Thank you for the information.” He paused, wondering about the last incident as well as details on the others. “If you wouldn’t mind, I’d be interested in borrowing your flash drive as well as any additional information you have on Dick Grayson and Jason Todd.”

 

Stephanie nodded, not looking surprised and went over to her desk. The drawers appeared to be full of assorted discs and implements just like the mixed Ziploc bag that she carried in her backpack. And just like with that bag, despite the disorderliness of the drawer, she somehow found what she needed without a problem.

 

“If you ever want to talk or hang out without Dami being the topic, that’d be cool too.”

 

Tim looked at Stephanie with surprise, his eyebrows lifting as he accepted the flash drive. He wasn’t used to people being interested in spending time with him unless necessary. Most people ended up ignoring or disliking him. Since that had continued on a larger scale at the League, he’d expected it to stay that way. He’d expected that Stephanie would forget about him after this aside from work or Damian-related interaction.

 

Having not anticipated that response, he answered without thinking to hide that he was caught off guard. “Oh. Alright.”

 

The response brought a loud laugh from Stephanie. The shorter agent beamed, looking pleased with Tim’s reaction. “I’ll get you to loosen up. We can watch Gundam together and eat nachos. But I have to jam at the moment so I’ll talk about that more later.”

 

It was probably just as well that they ended up parting after that because Tim didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t know what Gundam was, although he’d seen the name written on one of the posters. Whatever it was, he couldn’t imagine sitting around eating nachos watching it. Things like that seemed so far removed from him that he didn’t even consider them.

 

He didn’t know what to make of Stephanie, or even Damian, Dick or Jason for that matter despite the additional information he’d been given. As far as he could tell, Damian seemed to overreact, often psychotically, if he felt threatened. But were the threats real or were they imagined? It was so difficult to know. And the other two agents, they seemed remarkable, but Tim didn’t have that strong of an impression because he had only heard about them.

 

He could be at the thought all day long and still not come to a conclusion so he decided to leave it be for now. Maybe he would understand more once he’d seen the information Stephanie had gathered. Or, more likely considering the enigma that was Damian, he would only have more questions.

 

With the flash drive securely in his messenger bag, Tim headed toward the library on the fourteenth floor of the Tower.

 

* * *

 

He’d discovered this library by accident when he’d first started exploring the Tower to determine what was where. There was also a library and report room that most people seemed to frequent in the lower levels. However, the fourteenth had the original reference library. It had everything from research material to a breadth of genres for casual reading, no doubt kept up for agents on their downtime.

 

He had discovered that the library on the fourteenth floor was usually empty and when it wasn’t there tended to be at most a handful of people there. It was a quiet place to get away from the constant press of people that sometimes wore away at Tim. And although most people opted toward digital books and information, Tim liked having a book in his hands when he was reading or studying.

 

When he walked into the library, he caught sight of a familiar red hair woman, Barbara Gordon, his mother’s secretary. He frequently saw her work in the library in her downtime. At first, he had been rather curious why she would choose to willingly work in rare moments of free time. However, as time went on, Tim realized that Barbara was there by choice, and she enjoyed working with books just as much as she enjoyed working with numbers.

 

Nodding his greeting toward Barbara, Tim’s feet automatically took him to the aisles. He’d borrowed the first part of a series so he first returned that and picked out the next one. Bookstores and libraries had always appealed to him and they were one of the few places that could still suck him in even when he’d shut down his interest in almost everything else. He liked the peace and quiet of libraries, and the history contained in the books surrounding him. He liked the smell and feel of old books the most.

 

He lingered especially in the photography areas, grabbing one of the larger photo books that he wanted to flip through but didn’t want to haul all the way home. He decided to look through it while he was here, since it was quiet enough that he didn’t have to feel like people were staring at him as so often seemed to be the case on the compound. He wanted to be in the area where he would be least likely to be disturbed so he headed toward his favorite table, which was in the far back, as far away from the door as possible.

 

When he rounded the corner of an aisle he was surprised to see Damian sitting there at the table, reading a book. Tim stopped and stared at him for a moment. It was strange and a bit startling seeing Damian so abruptly after he’d just been prying into the man’s life.

 

Damian looked up at him, his expression instantly wary and kind of annoyed. “What?” he demanded.

 

“You’re sitting at the table where I intended to sit,” Tim answered, then looked down at the mostly empty table. There weren’t any other good choices of tables that were as tucked away as this one so Tim was reluctant to leave.

 

Pale green eyes regarded him skeptically. “You’re randomly here of your own accord?”

 

“Yes,” Tim said, setting the books down so Damian could see. “I came to continue a series and look through photography books. I prefer this library. It’s quiet, which is also the reason I prefer this corner. Fewer people come back here so I can spend time without being bothered.”

 

“No shit,” Damian said flatly, gaze continuing to bore into Tim distrustfully. He slammed his book shut and Tim saw that it was an art book from a pre-war artist named Gottfried Helnwein. “I find it odd that you’re here. I don’t believe in coincidences.”

 

“Well, that’s unfortunate because that’s what this is,” Tim said impassively. “If I’d wanted to track you down, why would I do something so obvious? Accidentally running across you would be a ridiculous excuse when this is such a quiet and removed area.”

 

The other man gave him a flat look and began stacking two more books on top of the one he’d been reading. “I was thinking more along the lines of someone sending you here for some purpose but thanks for the speech.”

 

“No one sent me.” Tim looked down at Damian’s stacked books and then up to meet Damian’s eyes. “Are you planning to leave?”

 

“Didn’t you say you wanted the table?”

 

“You don’t have to leave for that,” Tim replied, pulling his books closer toward him. “I was only hoping to take one side of the table but if you don’t want me to, I’ll leave instead. You were here first.”

 

Damian gave him another one of his long blank stares, shook his head and opened the book again. “Whatever.”

 

Tim pulled out the chair on the opposite side of the table from Damian and sat down.

 

He set the reading books to the side and opened the large photo book. It was a compendium of some of the most famous photos that had been taken since before the war from various parts of the world.

 

Tim liked it because the size of the book afforded larger, higher resolution photographs that he could look at more closely, studying the features of printed photos.

 

He flipped through the pages but he couldn’t help paying partial attention to Damian.

 

He felt a gaze on him and looked up, meeting Damian’s eyes. Damian dropped his gaze back down to the book in front of him but Tim forgot about the photo book for a moment.

 

Tim couldn’t help feeling perplexed by Damian. Was the distrust and sarcasm that bordered on rudeness his true feelings or were they a defensive reaction to others?

 

Where did truth end and deception begin when it came to Damian, or was it all an act regardless? Damian seemed reasonable enough now but he didn’t know whether Damian was acting this way for a particular reason.

 

But what was of particular interest to Tim and what he hoped he may end up finding more information on within the flash drive was the quieter side of Damian. The person he was at moments like this, when he didn’t seem like he wanted to push Tim away immediately. When there was the indication that there could still be more to him.

 

The books he’d chosen were interesting enough on their own. Since the start of their partnership with each other, Damian had never once shown that he had any interest in art of any forms. And the fact that Damian had dropped his gaze rather than staring defiantly into Tim’s eyes was just another moment to consider.

 

Damian seemed to have so many aspects that were deeply or partially hidden and if Tim had felt the strength of emotions he once had, he would have characterized his interest in Damian as fascination. As it was, he found himself growing almost grudgingly intrigued by the younger man.

 

He leaned against the table with his arms partially crossed, and studied Damian more closely for a moment before he flicked his gaze down to the art book.

 

“How is that?” he asked, his voice a low tone for the library but cast with a faint hint of curiosity.

 

Pale green eyes flicked up instantly. “What?”

 

“The book,” Tim said, gesturing at it. He didn’t look away from Damian’s face. “I haven’t seen any drawings of that artist. I was curious if it’s good.”

 

There was a pause where Damian stared at him mutely but then his eyebrows drew down and his full mouth twisted slightly, giving his face more animation than it had had since Tim arrived at the library. The expression was at once incredulous and confused but then a silhouette from the nearby aisle shifted and Damian’s face smoothed back into his usual bland look.

 

He looked over as a library attendant shelved a couple of tomes before hurrying back the way he’d come. It was only then that Damian answered. “It’s good.”

 

“Hmm.” Tim leaned back in his chair. “Do you just like that particular art style? Or do you like multiple styles?”

 

Again, green eyes leveled him with a suspicious stare. It seemed as though Damian couldn’t figure out why any of this information would be of value to his partner. “I don’t really like a lot of anything. Until recently, I haven’t had access to books since very early in my childhood.”

 

The response was spoken curtly but then after a breath, Damian added, “However I enjoy art in most forms but I am most fond of hyperrealism. The number of details an artist needs to pay attention to for the drawing to be so realistic is stunning.”

 

Tim studied Damian with increasing interest as it became apparent that the intellect he’d thought was there did exist. After all, there weren’t many children who would enjoy hyperrealist art. “You had an advanced taste for a child,” he observed. “I used to read well above my grade level as well.”

 

“And look where we both ended up in the world,” was the dry response. “How far our good taste has gotten us.”

 

Tim’s lips faintly twitched at the edges. “Intelligence doesn’t always equate to common sense. Or, for that matter, the ability to fully choose one’s path in life.”

 

Damian watched him for a moment and leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his short spiky hair. He seemed to be considering something, perhaps whether or not he should say something, but in the end, he just looked back down at his book.

 

Tim debated going back to reading but he would loathe giving up one of the few times Damian seemed relatively approachable. “Do you love Friedrich Nietzsche or is it because of something deeper? I saw the quote on your arm.” he asked curiously. “Initially I thought you simply enjoyed the irony of the quote.”

 

The other man made a face at the word ‘love.’ “It was both. Nietzsche’s use of language was extraordinary. Especially considering it’s a nearly two hundred years old text but the subject matter manages to still be applicable now.” There was a slight pause and Damian raised his eyebrow. “I’m surprised that you recognized the quote.”

 

“His wording is memorable,” Tim replied simply with a shrug.

 

“Indeed.”

 

Before any more could be said on the topic, the silence of the library was broken by a loud voice towards the front. A slightly disjointed conversation floated to the back where they were sitting. Although the context meant nothing to Tim, he noticed that Damian’s eyes had narrowed slightly and his posture had stiffened.

 

There was no immediate indication as to what exactly had made him so tense until heavy footsteps came closer to them and Jack Napier appeared next to the table.

 

The gangly green-haired man leered down at them, his mouth twisted in a mocking, lecherous grin.

 

“Study date?” His thick eyebrows lifted, eyes going from Tim to Damian.

 

“Mind if your uncle Jay joins in?”

 

“I do, actually. I only give reading lessons on Sundays.”

 

Jack’s eyes narrowed slightly but the smirk didn’t leave his face. “You’re a _real_ smartass when they let you out of your cage, aren’t you?”

 

Damian just stared at him flatly.

 

“Is there a reason for your interruption?” Tim asked, watching Jack impassively.

 

Heavy lidded eyes swung over to Tim. His eyes flit over Tim’s thin build and his smirk widened. “We’re meant to check on wee Robin here from time to time. I volunteer for the job. He’s like a pet of mine.”

 

Jack’s smirk spread into an outright grin as his gaze moved back to Damian.

 

“Aren’t you?”

 

The tension seemed to be steadily building and Damian’s fingers had curled loosely around his book. His eyes never left Truman’s even as he slowly began putting his stack of books together. “I hear words that there’s a sixteen-year-old in the training complex, Napier. Perhaps you should go see if he’s your type. A bit old but you seem open to variety lately.”

 

The guard’s face flooded with color and he jerked forward instantly as if to swing.

 

Damian didn’t move an inch; he didn’t even flinch as Jack’s clenched fist stopped only centimeters from his high cheekbone. Jack’s mouth had pulled back into a snarl at that point but he retracted his fist as Damian stared at him with the same chill in his vivid green eyes.

 

“Are we finished?” Damian asked, voice quiet and deadly.

 

Jack didn’t answer as he seemed to struggle to control his flaring temper. Damian stood, picked up his books and walked away as if the incident hadn’t even occurred.

 

Despite the fact that the guard had come with the intention to provoke, he was the one who looked the most upset by the incident.

 

His eyes dropped to Tim and turned into slits as if he hated Tim as well for witnessing the interaction.

 

Tim returned Jack’s glare with a largely impassive stare, although his eyebrow ticked up faintly. What little emotion that was visible on his face showed he wasn’t particularly impressed, either.

 

There was definitely an especial amount of tension between those two. The implications of the conversation shed some amount of light on it, including the slightly disturbing way Jack had addressed Damian.

 

Jack finally seemed to relax, rocking back on the balls of his heels and rolling his shoulders. He ran a hand through his thick green hair, gave Tim another assessing glare and then turned without a word.

 

Tim watched the man go, his eyes narrowing faintly in thought. After he was alone again, he turned his attention back to his book. However, at that point, the silence was almost distracting. He found that he felt it was unfortunate that Jack had arrived since he’d finally been making some amount of conversational progress with Damian.

 

He kept thinking about what Stephanie had said, and the implications of Damian’s past, and the familiar way Jack treated Damian. In the end, he found that the questions clamoring in his mind did not allow him much respite for looking at photographs of a beautiful terrace. No matter how detailed it was.

 

He sighed and shut the book. He wasn’t sure whether he was more discontent with the fact that the interaction had distracted him from being able to concentrate when alone and had effectively ruined any chances of a quiet few hours... Or whether, instead, he didn’t mind that Damian had been there and he was more displeased that Jack had interrupted them.

 

It was odd to consider the idea that he could have been, on any level at all, enjoying Damian’s company. Still, now that Damian was entrenched firmly in his mind again he decided he may as well look into the information Stephanie had provided him.

 

He ended up putting back most of the books and only brought with him the continuation of the series. When he got home, he opened his father’s old office which he hadn’t touched in years. He could almost feel the presence of ghosts, shifting just out of his perception.

 

When he turned the light on it flickered dully. Many of the light bulbs had burned out long ago and he hadn’t bothered replacing them. The bombs had affected the electricity and some rooms had stronger currents than others.

 

He didn’t pay heed to the ambiance and booted up the computer. It was old and unused and took a long time to load, with labored whirring in the process. He ended up leaving it to load to go make himself some black coffee, and when he returned it was finally ready.

 

For so many years, this room had been off-limits; partially due to an unspoken rule of his mother’s to not disturb anything that had been his father’s, and partially because he hadn’t wanted to be reminded of old ghosts anyway.

 

He remembered from childhood sitting quietly in the living room, reading a book or drawing on paper and looking up every time he thought he heard movement that indicated his dad was done. He used to long for those moments when his father would abruptly open the door and appear, tired lines etched into his face from hours of working on the computer.

 

Even so, his brown gaze used to dart around immediately and the second he saw Tim, he always broke into a grin.

 

Tim remembered the way his dad had swooped down on him and picked him up, hugging him against that chest that had felt so broad and inviting and safe, and the affectionate way those large fingers had ruffled his hair or held him closer. The obvious happiness and excitement in his voice as he’d proclaimed he was done with work and asked Tim what he wanted to do.

 

That moment when his father had appeared in the hallway had always been Tim’s favorite. Although there were sometimes hours if not entire days prior to that when his father would rarely appear, the moment he had entered the room he’d always lit it up. Walls had seemed too paper thin to contain that grin. Dismal days had seemed brighter.

 

His presence had always seemed larger than life and the sparkle in his eye had so often seemed genuinely happy or mischievous. The smell of ink had seemed to linger on his father’s clothing as well, although Tim had never known specifically why. It had just been his scent. That, mixed with old books and newspapers and generic soap.

 

Perhaps that was why Tim felt an affinity for old bookstores and libraries. Aside from the ability to disappear into a corner, it was a comforting place the way his father’s arms had once been.

 

After his father’s death, the room had been used occasionally; oftentimes by Kon to play a game, although Tim had also utilized it for schoolwork. Some of their use had been important and some frivolous. When he thought of pulling up an internet browser he imagined the search engine still displaying a search for Latin phrases.

 

The thought made his stomach clench and expression shut down, and he looked away from the familiar background to stare at the wall. He ignored every thought that went through his mind until he was certain he could stay on task.

 

The times of his father or Conner using the room were long ago and those memories were best left untouched. None of it held any relevance or meaning for his life anymore.

 

If it weren’t for the fact that the office held the only computer in the house, he would not have even opened that creaking door.

 

He sat down at the desk, brushing off the thick layers of dust that were in the way, and set his mug on an old jewel case to the side. Although his mother never came home anymore and his father was long dead, he still automatically followed etiquette to keep from staining the furniture.

 

Once the flash drive was inserted and a window popped up on screen, he saw that Stephanie had collected quite a bit of information. There were many folders and files, and judging by the extensions Stephanie had compiled videos, images, and documents with each of the Wayne’s name labeled neatly.

 

Curiosity made Tim click the generic files about Richard John Grayson and Jason Peter Todd first. The files contained the most basic information about the other two agents: Names, pictures of the agent over the years, dates of birth, ability assessment, their history… etc.

 

Tim felt a tug of annoyance at the back of his mind when his eyes noticed the beauty all three Wayne brothers possessed. It wasn’t of use. Still, his traitorous thoughts could not help but take in their appearances.

 

Richard Grayson was beautiful like a painting with his honey skin as the canvas. Thick, tastefully tousled jet black hair decorated a traditionally handsome face; a straight, delicate nose sat above well-formed heart-shaped lips. All of them paled in comparison to his eyes, the bluest shade of color that Tim had ever seen on a human being; expressive eyes that could speak.

 

Glancing down at Dick’s file, Tim was unsurprised to see that Dick used to be a Valentine agent. With that type of beauty, it was practically a given that the League would put him up with that type of assignment. However, what _did_ end up surprising Tim was how short the period of time was. It was less than a year since Dick started his career as a Valentine operative that he was immediately put in as a normal field agent. Tim briefly wondered if there were any reasons to it, whether the General had any influences on the decision or whether Dick was just _that_ good, his ability could _not_ be wasted on seducing other people.

 

Tim moved on to Jason Todd’s file. It was yet another striking face staring back at him. Unlike Dick or even Damian, Jason had a rough, striking appearance instead of a ‘pretty’ one. Bronze, sun-kissed skin stretched across strong jawline, the corners of his thin lips curled upward in an expression caught between challenging and arrogant.

 

He had that aura about him that reminded Tim of Damian, the same angry defiance that refused to bend or break for anyone’s sake. His hair was short, not as short as Damian’s but certainly shorter than Dick, unruly, curly hair that stuck out. There was a lock of hair on Jason’s bang that had been dyed a white color. On the profile shot of his face, Tim noticed that his nose had the tiniest bump to it, most likely from being broken one too many times.

 

Jason’s eyes, Tim had slowly begun to associate Wayne with striking eyes, were a teal color, a mixture of Dick Grayson’s sky blue and Damian Wayne’s vivid green. They pierced Tim on the spot with a narrow-eyed stare. The look balanced well on Jason’s face.

 

Unlike Dick’s history, despite his feature, Jason was never enlisted as a Valentine operative. He was only marked as a potential one. Below it was a list of offenses that Jason had committed, the most common of them all was starting fights (that he could, fortunately, or unfortunately, depending on the point of view, finish). It was probably why Jason couldn’t cut it as a Valentine. He was too violent and unpredictable to be one.

 

Tim also found out that Jason was also marked as a volatile agent that people needed to keep a close eye on. It wasn’t too the point that he had to be locked up on the Fourth like Damian, but Jason’s psychiatrist showed a definite wariness to Jason’s ability to control his temper.

 

Tim sat back on his chair, mentally arranging the pieces of information to put them all in one big picture. Ivan Fleming’s Novel, Goldfinger, once stated: ‘ _Once is an accident. Twice is a coincidence. Three times is an enemy action._ ’ There was definitely a pattern to the three prodigies of the League.

 

Their mental states slowly deteriorated the younger they were.

 

The oldest, Richard Grayson, seemed like a fairly stable and charming person.

 

The second one, Jason Todd, was marked as volatile with an unpredictable temper.

 

The third one, Tim’s partner, Damian Wayne, was locked up for his psychotic episodes.

 

It was also noteworthy that the time it took for them to get to level 10 decreased as well. Did this mean an increase in abilities or did it just simply mean the League had known what to expect about their skills?

 

Tim’s lips pressed together thoughtfully. This brought up new questions.

 

Did the Wayne brothers’ deteriorating mental stability reflect Bruce Wayne’s own mental stability over the years? Was this instability what brought him to his ultimate demise?

 

Tim debated for a while before he ultimately decided that he didn’t have any ways to find out the answers. This would have to be left for another day.

 

Tim moved the mouse cursor to Damian’s folder and after a small pause, he double clicked it and then picked the first folder. Images appeared first. They seemed to be pictures of Damian over the years. Most were still frames from security or surveillance cameras. One picture was what appeared to be a mug shot from jail and another appeared to be a picture taken for identification purposes for the League.

 

Damian’s appearance hadn’t changed much over the course of the years; every image portrayed the same penetrating green gaze and short, spiky black hair. The progression in age was interesting, not because of his physical appearance, but because of the slight change in demeanor as he’d grown older.

 

The image of Damian at the age of ten showed a thin, sinewy boy with almost delicate features. Long black eyelashes framed his pale green eyes. As intelligent and calculating as those eyes seemed to be, pre-teen Damian’s face was completely void of any expression or emotion. Several pictures of him over the subsequent years seemed to follow that trend. It was hard to imagine that scrawny, striking child going on assignments and taking lives, but Tim knew Damian had.

 

At some point, his mannerisms appeared to have gradually begun to change. His face became extremely expressive and often the look in his eyes was challenging, hostile and accompanied by the mocking smirk that Tim was familiar with now. The change could imply that Damian had found the ability to express himself over the years by rediscovering emotions he hadn’t been able to have as a child assassin.

 

Tim’s experience with Damian, however, told a different story. He suspected the opposite was true. Damian’s provoking manner seemed like an act or defense mechanism to keep others at bay until he could discern their motives. What he was truly feeling was something only Damian knew. He wondered if agent Todd wore the same defense mechanism as Damian’s or if it was something only Damian had. What about Dick Grayson? Was he truly nice or was it also his own brand of defense mechanism as well?

 

He returned to the main folder and watched the videos. The first video he saw seemed to be the one Stephanie had referred to with the girl that had been attacked.

 

Grainy footage from what appeared to be a surveillance camera filled the screen.

 

From the angle, Tim guessed that it was fixed on a streetlight as it hovered above a street he recognized in Blüdhaven. The date at the bottom of the video was seven years old, which explained why the area had not been cleaned up yet. This hadn’t been long after the second major wave of bombs that had devastated the country.

 

After joining the League, Tim learned that prior to the peak of the war all those years ago, paranoia had been high. Cameras had been installed nationwide in concealed vantage points to watch high traffic areas and the sections of the cities that were known to house criminal behavior.

 

It had been an attempt to catch terrorists in the act. In order to avoid losing anything, the footage had been routed through heavily protected wires and casings to automated facilities that could record for years even without a single person present to monitor. Several of the cameras were destroyed during the war, despite all precautions taken, but many had survived.

 

Tim doubted that many of the people on screen knew they were being recorded, if any at all. He had grown up in Gotham and had visited Blüdhaven with Conner many times, and he didn’t remember ever noticing any cameras. It was possible, of course, that any that had remained in Blüdhaven had been removed in the years between the second waves of bombs and when Tim had been old enough to be wandering that neighborhood with Kon.

 

At one time, Blüdhaven had nearly been an extension of the Financial District.

 

Since the bombs, it had fallen into disrepair. And, for people like the girl running across the screen, it had become dangerous.

 

Tim watched as the scene played out. A young girl of thirteen or fourteen ran across the screen in terror, clutching a load of bread in her stick-like arms, three men who dwarfed her petite form running after her.

 

They caught her quickly and began to hit her savagely before they forced her down within view of several scavengers who didn’t pay much attention to the affair. Her mouth was wide open and her face was twisted, showing that she was screaming loudly in panic.

 

Damian appeared, walking calmly down the street. He didn’t seem to be startled by the scene before him but he did stop and observe. The men halted their activity and words were exchanged, but the camera didn’t pick up any sound.

 

Damian appeared to be staring at the young girl with a blank look on his face as she sobbed and struggled, but there was something in his eyes that made it obvious that the disinterest was only on the surface. The slight curl of his mouth, the way his hand slowly balled into a fist; they were all telling signs that Damian felt something else as he looked at the scene. It was not an expression that Tim was familiar with and it inspired curiosity in him as he watched.

 

Without transition, Damian abruptly looked at the men with an expression of wild fury.

 

The look was deadly, frightening and Tim wondered if this was what Stephanie had meant when she’d said that Damian could ‘lose it’ sometimes. The expression on Damian’s face had the ability to send a shiver down a person’s spine and it was painfully obvious that in that moment he was not entirely sane.

 

What happened next was a blur. One second Damian was standing there facing off against three considerably stronger looking men and in the next, he was slaughtering them. His movements were almost graceful, decisive; he killed effortlessly and with a skill that was startling.

 

They truly hadn’t stood chance.

 

The carnage was over seemingly within seconds. Afterward, Damian stood there covered in blood. He stared, wide-eyed and snarling. The girl unsurprisingly began screaming in terror. This time it caught the attention of the scavengers and for some reason, the entire scene erupted in chaos.

 

Tim could only assume that the scavengers had thought Damian had murdered three men and was now attacking a girl. It was the only reason he could think of to explain what happened next.

 

They swooped in on Damian with pipes, bats, bricks, whatever was in the debris that lay in piles in the area, and he responded with lethal force. Everyone who came near him fell to the ground. No matter what they threw at him and how many jumped on him, his lanky form managed to overpower them. It wasn’t long before police arrived in droves and he was finally taken down.

 

Tim frowned slightly at the screen in thought and moved to the next file in chronological order.

 

The video was the same night but apparently several hours later. The picture was sharper and showed Damian sitting at a table in a small room. He was still covered with dried blood but the wild look was gone from his face. Instead, he looked withdrawn and dismayed. He kept looking at his hands and scrubbing them against his pants, his full mouth turned down deeply at the sides. After a while he got up to pace the room, scratching at the dried blood that clung to him and raking his hands through his hair at random.

 

Tim could hear the brush of fabric and realized this video had sound.

 

It went on that way for a while until two men appeared in the room. One stayed by the door and one approached Damian, telling him to sit down and be still. He introduced himself as Detective Redhorn and his partner as Detective Soames. The next several minutes passed with them attempting to question Damian about the incident. Damian answered vaguely and then ceased to respond at all when Redhorn became increasingly aggressive.

 

The man seemed intent on ignoring the way the incident had actually begun and instead labeled Damian as a rapist and mass murderer. The interview went on a downward spiral from there as other crimes were brought up; crimes that had happened in other parts of the city but which Redhorn appeared to be trying to implicate Damian as the perpetrator.

 

“You’re a fucking imbecile.”

 

It was the first time Damian had spoken in several minutes on the tape, nearly fifteen Tim saw when he looked at the timer. The response was immediate. Redhorn snatched Damian up by the arm and slammed his head down onto the table with a resounding _thump_.

 

Tim knew without even having to think twice that Damian had allowed himself to be manhandled. But the detective was not so intuitive; he twisted one of Damian’s arms behind his back and leaned down to hiss something in his ear that was inaudible.

 

Soames remained generally expressionless as he maintained his position by the door.

 

The abuse went on for some time. It seemed that Redhorn was prepared to beat a confession out of Damian and for some reason, Damian was letting him. Perhaps he didn’t want to cause any more trouble by lashing out. Perhaps he was just waiting for the League to arrive and get him out like Tim knew they eventually did.

 

Maybe it was something else entirely. Judging by the darkly haunted look that had been in his eyes prior to the interrogation, it seemed that Damian had been affected by the incident that had led to him being there. Maybe he felt some sense of guilt or responsibility? Maybe he even thought he _deserved_ to be roughed up?

 

Tim wound up skipping through a lot of the interrogation. The physical abuse and Damian’s lack of response were uncomfortable to view.

 

The detectives kept him there for over three hours while repeating the same redundant questions in the hopes that Damian would crack and agree to confess to the assortment of crimes. By the time Tim resumed viewing, Redhorn was panting and covered in splatters of blood. He was visibly frustrated and it made him more violent as Soames kept guard by the door.

 

Through it all, Damian had remained aggravatingly passive and it wasn’t until Redhorn straddled him on the floor that he had a visible reaction. Before then, he had stared blankly into space as though the abuse was boring to him. Now, his pale green eyes locked with Redhorn’. Tim didn’t know what passed between the two men but Redhorn stiffened and his hackles rose.

 

“You’re mine, you piece of shit,” he said quietly, his voice intense as he whispered into Damian’s face. “You killed civilians, _cops_ , who knows what else you’ve done. You’re going to own up to it, boy.”

 

“I’m not going to own up to anything,” Damian said flatly. “Unhand me at once.”

 

Redhorn sneered and removed his gun from the holster. “Do you really think you can give _me_ orders? You do what I say when I fucking –” He slammed Damian’s head against the floor for emphasis. “ – _say it_. If I say open those cocksucking lips and blow my gun, you’ll do it. Won’t you?”

 

Damian’s lips curled back into a sneer.

 

“Won’t you?” Redhorn repeated, pushing the barrel of his gun against Damian’s lips.

 

In the space of a second, Redhorn went from straddling Damian to flying across the room with savage violence. He slammed against the wall but almost before he’d made it, Damian was on him again. The gun flashed in Damian’s hand just as Soames shouted and drew his own gun.

 

A shot was fired and Soames crumpled to the floor, blood pooling beneath him.

 

Damian growled, dark eyebrows drawing together. He looked pissed off and frustrated and murderous but not insane like he had earlier. His breath was coming faster although Tim doubted it was from exertion. At that point, Redhorn climbed to his feet and threw himself at Damian in a stumbling blind rage.

 

“Fuck it,” the younger version of Damian said flatly and raised the gun. He unloaded it into Redhorn head until nothing remained but pulp. He stared at the body for a moment, and tossed the gun down, standing shock still.

 

Tim stared at the lone standing figure in the room.

 

He wondered about the violence in the two connected videos. It seemed from the first one that Damian hadn’t been in his right mind when he’d killed the civilians and cops, and yet he hadn’t attacked until he’d been attacked first. Or, in the case of the three men, the girl had been attacked. Yet he’d allowed the detective to abuse him for hours and didn’t react until he was on the floor.

 

Was that because Redhorn had pinned him down?

 

The video didn’t end there though. Before Tim could contemplate on the information, the door to the office busted open and a figure strode in quickly. Tim immediately recognized him as the younger version of Dick Grayson.

 

“Dami…” Dick said softly, stopping right in front of Damian.

 

Damian seemed to be struggling to say something but after a moment, his shoulders slumped slightly and he turned away. “Save it, Grayson.”

 

Tim was struck by the fact that this was the first time he heard Damian calling anyone remotely close to them by name, even if it was just a last name. He never called Tim’s name, and the only form he seemed to address Tim with was that annoying pet name.

 

Dick showed none of the fear the other agents around the compound showed Damian though. He raised a hand and traced a darkening shape on Damian’s cheek. “Are you alright, little robin?” He asked.

 

“Fine,” Damian brushed the concern aside. He batted Dick’s hand away but he didn’t seem like he meant it.

 

Dick didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Damian in a hug. At first, Tim thought Damian would push him away but it didn’t happen. “I’m not angry. I know you tried.” Dick said softly, almost too soft for Tim to hear. 

 

“I didn’t try hard enough,” Damian mumbled after a moment. “Could have stopped it if I tried harder.”

 

“Don’t blame yourself.” Dick said firmly, wrapping an arm around Damian’s scrawny shoulders. Surprisingly, Damian didn’t shrug it off. “Let’s go. I will deal with whatever the League ditches out.”

 

They both walked out of the office then and it signaled the end of the first video. It left Tim with more questions than answers. The dynamics between Damian and Dick was interesting though. If possible, Tim wanted to explore more to that. He also wondered what Dick meant when he said he would ‘deal with’ the League.

 

Tim didn’t have an immediate answer to that so he continued to sift through the information that Stephanie had meticulously cataloged. After that incident, the League covered up what had happened and locked Damian away for two years. He was kept in a cell on the Fourth Floor Detainment Center and away from the general population.

 

The next documented information was that Catalina Flores was acting as Damian’s newest psychiatrist. Apparently, they intended to release him to active duty if he could pass psych evaluations. As Stephanie had referenced, that also ended in failure for him.

 

There were scant amounts of scanned documents from Catalina’s files as well as some files that had been taken from her computer. None of it was very helpful or conclusive due to the randomness of which they were included and it seemed likely that Stephanie hadn’t been able to recover the majority of her files.

 

The main thing of note in the file of Catalina Flores was how she came to land in Arkham asylum in a catatonic state. Tim found a video of the infamous session.

 

The clarity of the video instantly allowed Tim to recognize it as League quality.

 

Damian was there, as was Catalina, he recognized her immediately through the picture on her generic file. The video was not long compared to the interrogation video with the detectives. It lasted only forty-five minutes but those minutes were disturbing in more ways than one.

 

From the nature of the conversation it seemed that during his incarceration, guards reported that Damian had been having nightmares. To pursue this, Catalina claimed she wanted to give him something to relax in order to discuss them further. This immediately seemed wrong in Tim’s mind but the woman carried it out anyway, instructing Damian to take an unknown quantity of unknown pills. He seemed hesitant but ultimately looked resigned to the process despite the fact that it seemed he did not expect it to work.

 

Within the next few minutes, the effects of the drugs were clear. Damian’s pale green eyes drooped, his voice slurred, she encouraged this, telling him to shut his eyes and relax. To remember what his nightmares had been. He answered sluggishly, clearly drugged, and she coaxed things out of him. No matter how disturbed he seemed or how resistant, no matter how his breath became labored and sweat began to trickle down his brow, she continued.

 

 _That_ alone disturbed Tim.

 

She moved closer to him, stroking his face, cooing that he should relax. Murmuring how much he looked like his brother.

 

All the while, Damian seemed caught in one of the nightmares she’d begun questioning him about.

 

“No,” he uttered in a low strained voice. “No –”

 

He twisted his head, full lips parted and eyebrows furrowed together in obvious distress as he half slumped over the table. Muttered words in a different language escaped his mouth but they were too low and whispered for Tim to hear.

 

“Everything’s all right, baby. It’s all okay…” she whispered, dark brown hair tumbling loose from its clip as she knelt beside him. Catalina began rubbing his neck, running fingers through his hair.

 

Tim’s eyes narrowed on her before he focused on Damian’s fingers, the way they were gripping the edges of the table with a white knuckled grip. The table began to slowly cave beneath it and Damian’s breath became audibly more ragged, his voice more distressed. Catalina didn’t seem to notice.

 

“Shh,” Catalina said, combing through his hair back and crouching beside him.

 

Tim thought she had to have noticed how much it was making Damian’s condition worsen. It seemed so evident to Tim the way Damian seemed to cringe away from her touch. The way she was stroking him was obviously worsening whatever was happening but Tim could only assume she didn’t care. It was surprisingly irritating for him to watch. He wanted to be able to tell her to stop; to think about Damian and his mental health. He wanted to demand what she thought she was doing.

 

It was around that time that Catalina began kissing Damian. She seemed utterly incapable of stopping herself as she stared at him with ill-concealed desire. It was a feverish look; at once worshipful and obsessive. She either ignored or didn’t realize how badly he was reacting to her probing tongue and groping hands. She slid one hand down, rubbing against his crotch as she continued to rape his mouth.

 

That was when Damian reacted.

 

His eyes snapped open. They seemed completely devoid of awareness or recognition. It was the wild-eyed look from the incident in Blüdhaven and he reacted with the same violence.

 

He was obviously out of control and completely unaware that she was Catalina Flores rather than whatever he’d been seeing behind his closed eyelids when she’d begun touching him.

 

This time the attack wasn’t as decisive as the last; it was tinged with a frantic angry madness as if he wanted her to feel pain. Whatever he’d been remembering or dreaming about in the drugged stupor had driven him further over the edge than usual.

 

She paid for it with broken glass used to slash her face and body before the guards charged in and stopped it all.

 

The video was brutal and violent, with blood spraying and Catalina screaming in terror. Sobbing and begging Damian to stop. There was a small part of Tim that felt uncomfortable watching it on her behalf, but the larger part of him couldn’t believe she had pushed it so far.

 

It disgusted him that she had so obviously taken advantage of someone in such a vulnerable position, all for her own gain. Especially since Damian had been known to react violently before then, so mentally compromising and then sexually assaulting him was an even stupider thing to do.

 

The disturbing way she’d seemed incapable of stopping, apparently getting off on his resemblance to Dick Grayson, was only matched by Damian’s seeming inability to stop himself once he’d started attacking her. It was a situation which was unfortunate on both their parts but Tim couldn’t feel any sympathy for Catalina.

 

She was supposed to be Damian’s psychiatrist, a position that needed to inspire trust since people were at their most vulnerable when discussing their issues. Yet the first chance she got, she was all over him. If that hadn’t happened, what would she have done in the future? How often would she have drugged and raped Damian, adding to the abuse he already received, all so she could get off on her own delusions?

 

Tim’s face shifted, turning cold and displeased, his lips pressed into a thin line, eyes narrowing darkly. He replayed the video and paused on Damian’s expression, studying his face. He wondered about the difference between episodes and what could cause it.

 

That prompted him to skip to the last recorded episode of Damian’s. This one was only a year old and had been captured on surveillance of the Fourth as he was escorted upstairs after the death of his last partner.

 

For the most part, Damian seemed silent but his eyes were brimming with impotent rage as Jack Napier was seen on the video hauling him down the corridor. They were accompanied by Victor Zsasz and Wally West. There was another guard there whom Tim had never seen and a man whose badge marked him as a lieutenant in the guards. There wasn’t audio in the surveillance cameras in the halls but the interactions were clear.

 

Jack and Victor were taunting Damian, getting in his face and touching him in an overly familiar way that made it obvious that this treatment of him was the norm. Wally was the only one there who looked uncomfortable with what was happening but he didn’t say anything to intervene. The strange lieutenant, if anything, seemed amused and pleased by the entire exchange as he offered his own unheard comments. He kept grinning at Damian smugly, even when Jack pinned Damian to the wall outside of his cell and got very close to his face before saying something in his ear.

 

At this point, Tim could now pinpoint the signs of Damian’s episode approaching. He was shaking visibly, his face pale with rage and eyes widening slightly. Anger seemed to build in him before his face snapped into the blank mask of indifference and he erupted in a blind rage.

 

Jack threw himself back just in time but the lieutenant wasn’t lucky enough to escape. Damian grabbed him and yanked him back into the cell right before Victor frantically slammed the door shut. He locked the door with the keypad, his fingers shaking visibly.

 

There was a brief argument between the guards after that before they began calling for reinforcements. From what Tim read afterward, it had been too late for the guard captain and he died of his wounds. Apparently, Damian had ripped open the man’s jugular with his teeth.(1)

 

There was an interesting mix of punishment and forgiveness when it came to Damian’s episodes which made it seem as though the Marshal dealt with them with some mote of logic. He punished Damian for the civilian incident which had compromised Damian’s identity in the city and resulted in many deaths, which had drawn more attention than wanted. But Tim was unsure if the time spent on the Fourth for that was an actual punishment or a way of keeping him isolated for a couple of years until the public forgot that they’d ever seen his face.

 

The two years of incarceration following the Catalina incident, however, was clearly a punishment. Perhaps the punishment was because of the psychiatrist’s apparent connection to Jonathan Kent, the General’s only son.

 

Tim wondered if his own psychiatrist had pushed it so Damian would get more time than if he should have. The punishment seemed so unjust.

 

Or perhaps the second time, there was no Dick Grayson to ‘deal with’ things and thus, Damian hadn’t been let off the hook easily.

 

Even then, Luthor must have viewed the tape if Damian had been briefly jailed rather than terminated for the attack. There was no denying that Catalina had brought it on herself as she took advantage of Damian and used her position to get what she wanted. If the Marshal was anything like Tim’s mother, he would have had very little tolerance for her behavior or sympathy for what had followed.

 

The final incident had also seemed to be forgiven, or so it appeared. Damian was initially put on the Fourth due to his failure to comply with his partners but no extra time was tacked on for the death of the guard captain.

 

In fact, Damian had been released sooner than ever. Was it possible that these deaths meant nothing to the League in the face of Damian’s skills? Or was it possible that the Marshal viewed these same videos and came to the conclusion that the attack had been provoked? If so, why didn’t they share this with the majority of the populace instead of allowing Damian to be labeled as a monster and alienated as a whole as if he were someone who killed at will for enjoyment?

 

The entire situation was baffling.

 

Even when Tim thought of his own interactions with Damian, his thoughts were inconclusive. Damian seemed to react based on threat level but that wasn’t always necessarily the case, even during times when Damian was in his right mind. After all, how much of a threat was Tim truly to Damian? And yet when Tim had touched him on that first mission Damian had slammed him against the car and cut off his breath. Yet if Damian had truly wanted to kill him, he could and would have. So how much of Damian’s behavior was threatening bravado, how much was insanity, and how much was a defensive reaction he may not be able to control?

 

The only thing Tim could conclude with any certainty was that Damian was mistreated on the compound. He suspected that such treatment added to the issues but he didn’t know to what extent. Maybe Damian was simply this way on his own regardless of how others acted. Maybe others acted that way as a result of how Damian had treated them all previously. Or maybe it was the systematic dehumanization of someone who made no effort to do anything but live up to their poor expectations of his behavior.

 

Whatever the case, Damian was as much a mystery now as he ever had been.

 

Especially when Tim thought about the moments when it seemed like there could be more to Damian than initially met the eye. Which was the lie? The quietly sarcastic man who enjoyed art styles in all forms in the corner of the library away from prying eyes, or the crazed person who could literally rip people apart and who killed in cold blood?

 

Or was either a lie at all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(1) Referred to the death of Captain Harvey Dent in the prologue_
> 
> **Next chapter:**
> 
> If Damian didn’t come, the likelihood of Tim dying tomorrow was very high; nearly to the point of certainty. He couldn’t tell from Damian’s response whether he would help in the end or not but he wasn’t particularly hopeful. It seemed the discrepancies and tension in their partnership had finally come to a head. Despite everything Tim had done to make it clear that he had no biases against the other agent, nothing had really changed.
> 
> As the gravity of the situation grew clearer to him, he wondered what his mother would say when she found out the inevitable had happened: that her son had finally died. Would it bother her? Or would she simply dismiss the messenger and return to her work?
> 
> Would anyone remember that he’d ever lived?
> 
> Tim followed Damian silently as they headed back to the cabin they were using as a temporary base, and wondered if this would be his last night to live.


	10. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have waited too darn long for this chapter. Without further rambling, let's us move to the real treat. Folks, please enjoy *winks*
> 
> After finishing the chapter, answer me only one question. How are you feeling? *winks*

The hallways were long and dark, and every noise echoed tellingly around Tim. He had to be especially careful when he moved, because even the slide of fabric could give away his location. Cass had decoded the information on the location of the headquarters of 53, and it had come time for Tim and Damian to follow up.

 

The place was located twenty miles outside of Metropolis. It was ideal for escape into the thick forest near the Wastelands following 53’s repeated attacks on the city. The large, abandoned underground bunker 53 had chosen for their headquarters had steel so thick that signals could not penetrate it. Not cell phones and not GPS. Leaving Tim completely cut off once inside.

 

It took him awhile to discover where Queen Bee was hidden in the maze of hallways and floors. He managed to narrow it down to a corridor but the electricity was faulty this far underground and the lights were flickering into darkness more often than they were on.

 

It was the second assignment he’d had since Stephanie had given him the flash drive and the second time that Damian was actually participating to an extent. While he limited his cooperation to playing lookout or offering opinions on tactical aspects, it was more than it had ever been in the past. It was a big difference to actually work together for once, and so far everything was going well. Damian was watching the outside of the bunker to see the movement of the hostiles as well as generally checking out the area.

 

Tim had slipped into the base itself to observe the set up from the inside. He wanted to get an idea of what may have changed from the blueprints and to see if there were any specific security vulnerabilities he could take advantage of the next day when they would actually carry out the mission.

 

Tim spent nearly an hour inside the base, slipping from one shadow to the next in silence. He was very careful to tread so his boots made no noise. Unit 16 had provided him with clothing that allowed him to blend in with the hostiles and had replicated their signature red armband. He wore the armband over a dark green long- sleeved shirt and black fatigues, and his hair was pulled back in a low ponytail at the base of his neck.

 

The temperature was rising as summer rolled in, but it wasn’t unbearable. Still, he could feel the heat trapped by his hair against his skin. The shirt he wore would have felt stifling if it had been just 5 degrees hotter. The heat was made worse in the bunker where there was little air flow, although the ground helped mediate some of the intensity.

 

He heard footsteps treading heavily toward him, the scuffing of soles against concrete. It echoed so much that Tim could hardly tell which direction it came from. He reached into his back pocket and pulled out a small hand held radio that he’d found in one of the supply rooms. From what he saw, the men guarding the perimeter were not the only ones to carry them.

 

Two men turned a corner and walked toward Tim down the hallway. Tim fumbled with the radio, turning it around and trying to click it on and off as if he had no idea how to work it. The men were talking quietly about something and the words bounced around them. It was nothing of consequence, but he kept it all in his mind anyway.

 

As they came up beside him Tim looked up, visibly startled, and stood to attention. The radio was gripped in one hand and hit his thigh, causing him to seemingly accidentally press a button. It blared static and he dropped it on the floor with a resounding clatter.

 

“Sorry,” he said, frazzled. He knelt down and fumbled with the radio. In his peripheral vision, Tim saw one man roll his eyes. They walked past without incident.

 

Tim made sure to make noise fumbling and cursing softly with the radio until their footsteps were long gone. When he no longer heard them he flipped the radio off and left the facility without anyone else seeing him.

 

Tim made it out to their agreed upon meeting place and leaned against a tree waiting for Damian to arrive. He examined the radio so he had an excuse in case someone walked by and wondered what he was doing.

 

It didn’t take long before Damian appeared, as silent and undetectable as always.

 

“Two exits other than the one you used,” he said flatly. “One to the North and another to the East. They are guarded by two hostiles at all times. Beginning at approximately 9:00, they switch shifts every eight hours. It is done efficiently with no opening, however at half past the hour, five hours into each shift there is a thirty minute meal break for each man. When one leaves, the entrance is guarded by one guard for this time and there are brief, three minute openings at intervals as he paces back and forth to observe either side of the forest.” He looked at Tim. “When you sneak in tomorrow, that would be the best opportunity.”

 

Tim nodded. He noted the term ‘ _you_ ’ and was unsurprised to realize Damian had no intention of accompanying him on the mission the next day. Pushing himself away from the tree, he put the radio in his back pocket and walked away from the base.

 

“I believe I’ve located the leader. There’s a corridor on the main floor in the Southwest corner that seems likely to hold her rooms. It’s in the best position to be defended. The lighting is faulty in places and every sound echoes considerably, but there are few checkpoints once one is inside the building. They put too much faith in the lack of entrances and the heavy guarding.”

 

Damian nodded sharply and looked away. He looked tenser as the time for the assault on the bunker came closer. “If you are able to speak with Queen Bee, they will most likely immediately disarm you.”

 

“I have some hidden weapons and if nothing else I can attempt to steal some from them. Still,” he continued, looking at Damian with faintly narrowed eyes and a serious cast to his features. “Do you really not plan to come?”

 

This was a mission that would be too difficult for him to undertake entirely on his own. He would be going into a base filled with hostiles. Then, without backup, he would be expected to negotiate with the leader or, barring that, kill him. His comm unit didn’t even seem to work properly in the bunker. There were so many variables involved that it was practically a suicide mission to go in alone.

 

Pale green eyes met his for a long moment but Damian kept his face perfectly unreadable. In the time they’d known each other Tim had come to realize that Damian was a master of masking his thoughts and that had not changed over time. His body language, however, was a different story. He fidgeted when he was agitated about something and when he ran a hand through his black hair, it was an indication of how much the question aggravated him.

 

His full lips parted as if to reply but then his eyes narrowed into slits and he abruptly turned away. There was a beat of silence and then all he said was, “Let’s get back.”

 

Tim watched Damian’s back and didn’t immediately move. It had been obvious since the beginning of their partnership that one day a mission would occur that they both had to be on or it would end in disaster. Having been inside the bunker for reconnaissance, Tim knew that if anything went wrong, even a small part of the mission, he would have no chance of egress.

 

Even if he did manage to negotiate successfully with Queen Bee, there was no guarantee that the dissenters would not determine it to be the last sign of weakness on Bee’ part and simply kill Tim. He would be outnumbered, likely have his weapons taken from him, and almost positively have no way of contacting Damian to ask for backup.

 

If Damian didn’t come, the likelihood of Tim dying tomorrow was very high; nearly to the point of certainty. He couldn’t tell from Damian’s response whether he would help in the end or not but he wasn’t particularly hopeful. It seemed the discrepancies and tension in their partnership had finally come to a head. Despite everything Tim had done to make it clear that he had no biases against the other man, nothing had really changed.

 

As the gravity of the situation grew clearer to him, he wondered what his mother would say when she found out the inevitable had happened: that her son had finally died. Would it bother her? Or would she simply dismiss the messenger and return to her work?

 

Would anyone remember that he’d ever lived?

 

Tim followed Damian silently as they headed back to the cabin they were using as a temporary base, and wondered if this would be his last night to live.

 

* * *

 

Tim didn’t know how long he’d been asleep before he heard it, or even whether it was a dream. He only knew that an unfamiliar sound caught his attention and that he felt mildly disoriented.

 

Opening his eyes, he listened closely with his eyebrows furrowed down slightly.

 

When he realized what direction it was coming from, he rolled his head discreetly and peered through the darkness. It took him a few moments to discern what it was.

 

When he realized it came from Damian’s bed, the surprise jerked him awake.

 

Damian was curled in a tight ball on his bed as though he were trying to protect himself. Despite that, the muscles in his face and body were twitching oddly. A soft, incoherent exclamation fell from his lips and he unwound himself from the ball abruptly.

 

He extended one of his arms away from his body and one hand dangled off the bed, the fingers twitching and tensing. He muttered in Arabic softly in his sleep, his voice low and strained.

 

Tim shifted and pushed himself up on one elbow, his eyebrows drawn down as he stared. Damian so often seemed silent and still, like a statue; that it was disturbing to see him so obviously distressed.

 

“Damian?” he asked loudly, hoping to wake him.

 

The word did nothing. In fact, whatever nightmare Damian was having only seemed to progress in intensity. His head turned back and forth, black hair splaying across the white sheets of the bed. His face turned towards Tim and moonlight shone across it, showing a vulnerable, naked expression that bordered on fear.

 

Tim sat up, looking at him with actual concern. He didn’t know what to do; it was almost alarming to see Damian in this state. The man was usually so controlled that Tim never knew how many layers there were before his true opinion would show.

 

But in this case, with Damian asleep, Tim knew everything he was seeing was the truth. The fact that Damian sounded terrified made Tim get out of bed. Even if Damian hadn’t been making noises, Tim wouldn’t have been able to go back to sleep in good conscience.

 

Tim threw his legs over the side of the bed and padded across the room toward Damian’s bed. He’d seen the way Damian hadn’t seemed to react much to Catalina when reliving a nightmare but he’d been drugged at the time.

 

“Damian, wake up,” Tim said loudly, lightly touching the hand dangling in front of him.

 

The reaction was immediate.

 

Damian’s eyes snapped open; wild and filled with madness. Seemingly without transition, Tim was suddenly thrown across the room. He smashed into a table so hard that it flew a few inches off the floor, crashed against the wall and fell over. He crashed into the floor; his vision clouded and he couldn’t properly breathe. Everything that was on the table clattered around him in a spray that peppered his body. His bag fell down next to him, spilling its contents.

 

Before he could even understand what had happened, violently strong hands were on him. He was yanked back and flipped ruthlessly, slammed onto his back. His head cracked against the hardwood floor and pain shot down his neck.

 

Tim’s eyes fell shut of their own accord. When they snapped open a breath later, Damian’s face was less than an inch from his own, and there was no recognition in it at all. Fear and surprise overcame Tim. His heart stumbled. Green eyes blazed at him with the same uncontrollable fury he had seen in the surveillance videos. As the words ‘automatic kill mode’ moved through his mind, he realized that Damian’s hands were now wrapped around his neck.

 

“Damian,” Tim yelled as Damian’s fingers started to tighten. “ _Dami_! Stop!”

 

The response was unexpected. The heart-pounding moment, feeling like it had been on fast-forward, suddenly stilled. Tension made the shadows in the room zero in on them while Damian faltered. Long, powerful fingers loosened slightly on Tim’s neck.

 

That shadowed face stared down uncomprehendingly.

 

Tim didn’t know if it was the use of Damian’s nickname or the plea that had got his attention but either way he took advantage of the moment.

 

“Stop,” he said urgently. His body was so tense it felt locked in place. He kept himself perfectly still, as nonthreatening as if he were dealing with a wild animal. “I won’t do anything – Just stop, Dami. Don’t hurt me.”

 

Pale green eyes met icy blue and Damian’s brows furrowed as he absorbed the words. His hands remained poised on Tim, ready to snap his neck in an instant. A long, tense moment passed in which the only movement was their chests rising and falling with their breath. Then sluggish awareness seemed to creep back into Damian’s eyes.

 

The manic wildness slowly drifted out of his face and was replaced by an expression of confusion.

 

At first it seemed that Damian wasn’t even aware of what had happened but then his eyes widened and he scrambled backwards, lowering into a crouch. Panting and tense, his body was coiled tighter than a spring about to snap. He still didn’t look entirely back to himself and his green eyes flitted around quickly. He didn’t speak but appeared to be bracing himself, waiting for something to happen.

 

Tense and unwilling to move, Tim came to two conclusions in quick succession.

 

One, he still had no idea whether or not Damian would attack him. Two, he was almost positive that Damian had only stopped when he had made it known that he was not a threat.

 

There was only one thing he had that could possibly be considered a threat, and it was what Damian seemed to be waiting for.

 

Moving as fast as he could so his motions were not misunderstood, Tim pulled the small remote out of his nearby bag. Damian tensed, eyes narrowing but his face turned into a study of complete shock when Tim threw the remote at him. Damian caught it in midair, the action almost an unconscious reflex as their eyes stayed locked.

 

“Take it,” Tim panted roughly. “I don’t want it – I’m not here to hurt you.”

 

For a long moment the only sound in the room was both of their labored breathing as they stared at each other. For the first time since they’d met, Damian’s expression was completely open and his thoughts were clear.

 

Emotions Tim hadn’t even been positive Damian ever felt were aimed at him. Shock, guilt, and fear dominated his slightly widened green eyes and his parted lips. The moment stretched as they stared at each other, the chaos of the last few minutes adding to the panting of their breath and eyes locked on each other. But it didn’t last long and everything snapped back to normal speed.

 

Damian abruptly ran out of the cabin. He was there and gone so fast that it seemed like he’d disappeared within the blink of an eye.

 

* * *

 

Tim stared blankly at the door, his mind still struggling to fully understand what had just happened. At length, he pushed himself up, grimacing at the bruises that pulled at his body. Damian had taken the remote with him and Tim was glad to be rid of the thing.

 

A faint sense of shock remained in his system for several minutes even as he went into autopilot. When he shut the door, he realized his arm ached. When he looked down at it he could see red marks. Damian must have grabbed him by the arm when he threw him across the room.

 

When he walked back to the other side of the room and righted the table, he felt his back pulling painfully. And when he put his belongings back in his bag and put it on the table, he could feel all the aches and pains in his torso. A shock of pain sped down his neck if his head was tilted just so.

 

He didn’t know why he straightened up part of the room, other than because the adrenaline was still moving through him and he felt jittery and wired. He kept half expecting Damian to burst back into the cabin and finish what he’d started, and half expecting to never see Damian again.

 

In the end, he moved around doing meaningless, mundane tasks until he finally lied down. His body was as creaky and achy as his bed, and when he closed his eyes he was hyper-aware of everything in the room.

 

Sleep was a long time coming.

 

* * *

 

Tim didn’t change the schedule for the following morning even though Damian never reappeared. The one thing that was clear was that Tim was alone for this mission. And with that, he felt a grim sense of acceptance.

 

Every action he took seemed like it would be the last time it occurred. The last time he pulled his hair back in a ponytail. The last time he straightened the clothing he’d been given by Unit 16. The last time he walked out of the cabin.

 

The last time he headed to a mission.

 

Tim infiltrated the base easily; Damian’s observations of the guards the day before were invaluable. He was able to slip into the base in the three minute period and avoid nearly everyone.

 

He walked with a purpose but was casual about it so that the few people he saw in passing barely even glanced at him. He was especially careful to do everything perfectly. It was imperative they catch Queen Bee before she defected to the Court; she was their strongest chance for an ally right now, and they needed it.

 

It barely took ten minutes to make it to the Southwest corner, and another five to wind through the hallways to the specific area he believed Bee would be. The radio remained tucked in his back pocket, flipped on with the volume set very low so from afar it would not sound as though he were masking his presence. Many of the hostiles, Tim had noticed, did the same thing, and it was one more way to blend in. He noted as he strode down the hall that many of the doors were closed. A few remained open, however, and he glanced in each as he passed. He found that most were empty.

 

Unfortunately, the one room he needed to be empty wasn’t. Halfway down the corridor he planned to use for egress, an open door revealed four men crowded around a table playing cards. One of them yelled loudly when his hand was beat and the other three burst into raucous laughter.

 

They would be difficult to get past if he made any noise at all when dealing with Queen Bee.

 

As he moved further into the base he listened intently to his radio. There was no alarm about an intruder; nothing amiss at all.

 

As he passed down another hallway, he came upon the area he’d earlier determined was most likely to house Queen Bee. He paused at an intersection. He didn’t want to give away his position so he finally shut the radio off completely. He looked around, ensuring that no one was in view. When he was positive he was alone, he continued forward as silently as possible.

 

A door was closed toward the end of the hall but he could hear voices emanating from it. He slowed and listened closely, standing to the side of the door. He couldn’t understand what they were saying and the voices fell silent seemingly naturally.

 

He couldn’t hear anyone coming and didn’t feel anyone’s presence. Even so, simply walking in with complete confidence would be foolhardy. So far, the mission was going more smoothly than any of the previous ones, and yet this should be the most difficult.

 

That was dangerous, in Tim’s mind, but he couldn’t deny the fact that nothing was exactly amiss. It was bothering him, actually; he remained on high alert, but there was nothing to be alert about.

 

Suddenly there was a loud noise and something was flying around him. Tim didn’t know what it was at first, but he threw himself to the side and tried to scramble away. His legs must not have been under him properly because he slipped and hit the floor with his shoulder. His bruised torso ached at the movement but he scrambled up and got out of the hallway.

 

He crouched just inside a nearby open door while making relatively little noise.

 

He felt awkward and unbalanced but was too focused on the hallway to determine why.

 

He peered out as best he could from the shadows and was able to just make out wooden shrapnel scattered across the floor and a huge hole in the door. He realized belatedly that they had shot through the door with a shotgun, and what he’d seen had been the shrapnel from the door.

 

“Did you get him?” a voice asked quietly.

 

Tim saw a man with dark skin appear in the hole, looking around. “Well,” he said, looking down at the floor, “there’s some blood.”

 

Tim looked down in surprise, and noticed one black-clad thigh was shining wetly in the dim light. His eyes narrowed and he pressed down on it immediately, checking for the extent of the injury.

 

Judging by the fact that he could still place his weight on it, most of it was probably superficial. Still, it had cut deep enough for him to bleed which meant it could compromise him in some fashion. And he could have left a trail of blood straight to his location.

 

He looked around but there was no other exit in the room. He’d been lucky to find cover at all so quickly. And he couldn’t shut the door without bringing attention to himself. The door opened down the way and the dark-complexioned man stepped calmly into the hallway. His red hair was wild, and long, sticking out in every direction.

 

Tim recognized him as Baran Flinders, the second in command of 53.

 

Bee appeared beside him. She looked exactly as he had in the stat file: smooth, dark caramel skin and blond hair in loose curls. She was holding what appeared to be a hunting knife. “Don’t let him get away.”

 

Tim knew it was only a matter of time before they found him. He was barely a few feet away and this was the first place they would look. His face set grimly and he let out a low, silent breath. He thought quickly, then reached into his pocket and pulled out what he needed. Flinders had a gun but Bee only had a knife.

 

He waited just long enough for the footsteps he heard to draw up alongside the room he hid in. Before Flinders could look around the corner, Tim threw a small round pellet out into the hallway and looked away with his eyes squeezed shut.

 

He heard Flinders say, “What –?” before the pellet hit the ground and released a bright flash of light that would briefly blind anyone watching. Flinders let out a startled yell and Tim used the distraction to scramble into the hallway. Momentarily blinded, Flinders didn’t even notice Tim in front of him before Tim slammed into the other man. A shot went off, embedding into the ceiling and the gun clattered to the floor. Tim ran, swiping the gun from the floor as he passed so no one would use it against him.

 

In the same movement, he pulled his staff out and slammed it against Bee’s machete. The knife slipped from Bee’s fingers and hit the floor. Tim was there within a second, stopping just behind and to the side of Queen Bee as he held the cocked gun against her head. He had to put the staff away so he would have a free hand to deal with Queen Bee.

 

“Believe it or not,” Tim said calmly, trying to control his breath as he caught it. “I’m here to negotiate. Call off any reinforcements you have coming and this doesn’t have to get any messier.”

 

Bee held her hands up, staying very still. She said nothing at first, and Tim pushed the gun against her head. He grabbed Bee’s arm and started to drag her back toward the room with the broken door.

 

“Call them off,” he repeated as an order.

 

There was another hesitation as Queen Bee and Flinders locked eyes.

 

“You won’t get out of here alive,” Flinders said, dark eyes narrowed into slits.

 

“Let me worry about that,” Tim said unconcernedly. “You call everyone off.” He shoved the gun harder against Bee’s temple, his expression deadly serious. “I’d rather not kill her but I will.”

 

There was another beat of silence and it was clear that Queen Bee didn’t want to give the order.

 

“Stop stalling,” Tim warned dangerously but it was too late.

 

He could hear footsteps echoing in the distance so he yanked the woman back with him. He didn’t have a good plan but he did know of a possible escape route through the back hallway. If nothing else, he could run with her and hide in a room somewhere.

 

He could try to run from the bunker with Queen Bee but that would be nearly impossible, especially with the place on high alert. The only choice he really had was to flee with the woman and try to convince her to call off the search.

 

Flinders watched Tim sharply as he pulled Bee back with him. Tim knew he had to do something about the man. If he didn’t, Flinders could just follow them and tell the reinforcements exactly where to look. Tim turned the gun on Flinders, planning to shoot him quickly. That quick shift was all she needed.

 

Queen Bee twisted and grabbed Tim’s arm, slamming it away from him. Tim started to jerk away, reaching for his staff, but Queen Bee was fast and efficient. Within the space of a second, she had forced Tim’s hand at an angle where it was impossible to hold anything. The gun slipped from Tim’s suddenly nerveless fingers.

 

So fast that it practically happened at the same time, Flinders was on Tim, using Bee as a distraction while he snatched the bo staff from Tim’s waist. Tim jerked his hand from Bee’s hold and turned his attention on Flinders. But the two of them were not at the head of a rebel faction for no reason; they’d obviously fought together in the past.

 

They moved in tandem so quickly that Tim didn’t have a chance. He was slammed back and hit the floor hard, trying to scramble back to a stand. Flinders violently yanked Tim back to his feet and pulled his arms behind him.

 

Within seconds, Tim went from being in control to being the one with the gun aimed at him. Flinders held him securely from behind, nearly cutting off Tim’s blood circulation. Before Tim could take any other course of action, the hallway filled with hostiles and he found himself surrounded.

 

“Search him,” The female leader ordered one of the hostiles who’d arrived as reinforcement.

 

Although Tim jerked and twisted and attempted to kick the man away, his weapons were ultimately taken from him. The man stepped back with them in hand, getting well out of Tim’s reach and back into the protection of the circle of men with guns.

 

Seeing that Tim was disarmed and surrounded, Flinders let go of Tim and stepped back over to Queen Bee’s side. Tim saw Flinders sliding the gun back into his holster.

 

Tim straightened, his eyes narrowing as he took them in. He didn’t see an opening and there were enough of them that there was no chance of escape. The hostiles were armed and Bee’s aim didn’t waver from his head. They’d been thorough enough to find all his weapons and there was no way he could fight all of the men at once.

 

After looking around and seeing no immediate solution, Tim’s even gaze slid back to meet the woman’s eyes. He kept his arms loose at his sides and paid attention to his surroundings in case an opportunity to escape or flip the situation would present itself.

 

“I take it you’re the one who’s been causing so much trouble lately,” Queen Bee said conversationally, casting her eyes around at her men before finally resting them on Tim.

 

“Trouble?” Tim echoed, as if he had no idea what he was talking about. “Have you been having problems?”

 

Flinders turned slightly away and said something into his radio but it was too low to be heard over the din of noise that had been created by their reinforcements. Bee didn’t look over, keeping her eyes locked with Tim. She didn’t seem particularly impressed by Tim’s denial.

 

“A skinny white boy attempted to infiltrate two of our locations recently. It seems you finally found what you were looking for but still fail at not getting yourself captured.”

 

Tim shrugged unconcernedly and didn’t bother to reply.

 

Queen Bee looked at her second in command expectantly.

 

“Nothing,” was all Flinders said.

 

This was apparently acceptable because the 53 leader nodded. “So, who are you? One of Jason’s new recruits? I wouldn’t be surprised – he doesn’t give a shit about his people enough to stop them from going on a suicidal quest for nothing significant. I don’t know what you aimed to accomplish here but you’ll save yourself a lot of trouble by telling me now.”

 

Tim took in his surroundings again, his impassive icy blue gaze moving along the hostiles. He looked for any change, any break in the circle surrounding him.

 

There was nothing. They had him thoroughly surrounded and the bunker’s few and highly guarded entrances gave him no delusions of escape.

 

He was going to die here.

 

He only wondered whether they would do it right here or whether they would bring him somewhere else first. He wondered how painful it would be and how long Damian would wait around before he left. Assuming he hadn’t headed back to Gotham already.

 

Tim met Queen Bee’s eyes evenly. “I have nothing to say so you’ll save yourself trouble by not bothering to ask.”

 

“Foolish move but as you wish.”

 

As soon as the words left Bee’s mouth, one of the men approached Tim and slammed the butt of a gun violently into his temple.

 

Tim was unconscious before he hit the floor.

 

Time passed, or at least he thought it might have. Nothing made sense.

 

Pounding that accompanied his heartbeat only belatedly translated as a headache. It took him several seconds to realize his eyes were open again.

 

He saw feet around him; moving and running and jerking back and forth.

 

There was a flurry of motion that Tim could not follow through his hazy hold on reality. The thumping of a man’s knees against the floor caused him to slide half-lidded eyes over.

 

A young man with bright blond hair was staring ahead with a surprised look. He stayed there and, in a moment that seemed to stretch, he tilted to the side and fell to the floor. Tim stared at him with darkening vision, realizing in a distant sort of surprise that the man was dead. Sounds echoed around him, people yelling and guns going off.

 

Stray bullets flew past him and Tim struggled to keep his eyes open. He didn’t even know his eyes had shut until he realized it was black all around him when he heard frantic shouts.

 

“Shoot him!”

 

“Jesus Christ, kill him!”

 

“What the fuck – ”

 

He struggled to open his eyes again and he saw a flash of red; Damian stood there in a moment suspended in time, his back to Tim while he stood calmly amidst the chaos.

 

Tim could barely see someone aiming a gun at Damian.

 

Tim’s eyes fell shut again. Even the sounds were getting muffled, as if wrapped in cotton and covered in a blanket, but he tried to claw his way back to consciousness.

 

He opened his eyes, barely enough to see just through his lashes, and Damian was nowhere to be found. The place was empty and someone was standing over him with a gun aimed at him. He closed his eyes again, then opened them and the person was gone.

 

Confusing flashes surrounded him and he didn’t even know if he was awake or asleep.

 

Vaguely, he realized that he had just dreamed Damian was there. He didn’t know why he had. Damian was long gone and wouldn’t return. Tim was alone and they had killed him or were about to kill him. Apathy mixed with his throbbing head.

 

Eyelids that felt too heavy fell shut and didn’t open again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~And then Tim died and Chiaki is killed by the readers.~~
> 
> **Next chapter:**
> 
> “Why?” Tim pressed, his curiosity heightened by the reply. “I'm easily replaceable. Agent Roth could take over for me immediately, no doubt, and it's unlikely anyone would have been surprised to find I hadn't made it back from this mission.”
> 
> “Well, maybe I don't want Roth to be my partner,” was the testy reply.


	11. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before we begin the chapter, I just wanna spend one extra second on thanking every single reader that have decided to stick with me :D I appreciate you guys so much. I have recently crossed 3000 kudos and I'm so happy for all of your wonderful support. Thank you.
> 
> *winks* You are in for a treat in the sneak peak. *winks*
> 
> P/S: I told you you would like chapter 11 and 12 ;)

 

Awareness returned to Tim in parts.

 

First, there was the sound, and then the scent. He felt like he was floating on air. Bodily awareness came with the arriving feelings of his limbs, and then finally, rational thoughts came to him. Tim kept his eyes shut, trying to fuzzily gather information on his surroundings. He seemed to be lying on something soft… a bed? Pillows? An image of a wood cabin came to his mind. Tim struggled to decipher its significance.

 

Tim’s fingers twitched.

 

Whatever illusion that came with that blissful unconsciousness state vanished in a flash as pains, big and small, seemed to wake up at that single movement. Everything hurt. His head throbbed and pounded with the rush of blood that roared in his ears. His right side ached, particularly his shoulder. The pain of his back flared up sharply, following by the burning sensation on his left thigh. The combination was wholly uncomfortable and distracting. It prevented him from returning to the calm serenity that had just sheltered him seconds before.

 

His sense of time was warped, so it could have been seconds or centuries before he remembered why it seemed strange that he was having any thoughts at all. Flashes moved behind his eyelids; disjointed scenes as if someone took film and cut it apart and put it back together haphazardly.

 

The crystal clear image of Damian’s back to him while people fell was strong in his mind, and with it came the memory of being surrounded. The strike against his head and him falling to the floor. The pain of a limp body striking concrete.

 

His mind started to drift again but then the image of Damian persistently returned and with it came sudden understanding.

 

Followed by delayed disbelief.

 

He was alive.

 

At that understanding, Tim’s eyes flew open. He stared at the ceiling in dumbfounded confusion. It registered too late in his mind that he might have been captured and he should have pretended to stay asleep a little bit longer. Tim’s sluggish mind took another moment to realize why the ceiling was familiar. It was the cabin outside of Factor 53’s rebel base, the same one he had been in the night before. Had it really been only a day? He glanced at the curtains but they were drawn shut. He didn’t have a clear concept of the time. Was it nighttime or daytime? How many hours had passed? Had it been more than a day?

 

Tim pushed himself up slowly, minding the aches.

 

Strangely enough, Queen Bee was sitting on a chair in the corner of the cabin, glowering at everything around her. She was tied up by zip tie handcuffs, and there was a gag in her mouth so she couldn’t speak. Tim stared, unable to comprehend what she was doing here or why. Instead of overworking his brain with the possibilities, Tim studied the rest of the cabin.

 

Leaning against the wall was Damian, his arms crossed and his expression blank. However, he was staring at Tim. He didn’t even blink when Tim looked over and met his eyes.

 

They stared at each other for a long moment; Damian intensely and Tim too confused to even know exactly what was happening.

 

Had that vision of Damian’s back to him been real? Had Damian actually been watching the whole time like he had on the previous missions? Had he actually saved Tim? If so, why? Damian didn’t save his previous partners; that much had been made clear. Had the guilt from the night before strong enough that he’d deviated from his routine this one time?

 

And why was Queen Been tied up in the corner of their cabin?

 

“Damian,” Tim greeted finally, blankly. Unable to form any other words.

 

Damian straightened his back and studied Tim. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he replied flatly. “Drake.”

 

The information shouldn’t have registered in his confused state of mind, but it did. This was officially the first time Damian said Tim’s name. It was just a last name, but it seemed that even with Dick Grayson, someone much closer to Damian than Tim was, he still used the last name.

 

Before Tim could ponder too much on it, Damian continued. “I’ve taken the liberty of bringing her here for further… negotiation.”

 

Tim looked at Damian a little strangely, his mind still scattered as the pounding of his head vied with the oddity of waking up like this. His eyebrows dragged down and he brought one hand to his head as if it would quell his headache or make his thoughts make more sense.  

 

He looked down at the sheet that was pooled in his lap and blinked. He wore a loose pair of drawstring pants that he didn’t remember putting on. When he touched his left thigh he could feel bandages beneath the fabric.

 

He stared at his leg and then looked up to study Damian with eyes narrowed faintly in confusion and thought.

 

The only explanation was that Damian had somehow saved Tim, brought him to the cabin, secured Queen Bee, and taken the time to bandage Tim’s wounds and give him a fresh pair of pants.

 

It was such a thorough and thoughtful thing to do that it struck Tim on several accounts; the least of which was that Damian had bothered to help Tim and also ensure that the mission could be completed; that had to be why he’d bothered to bring Queen Bee in for negotiation.

 

It was bizarre. Damian had never cared about failed missions before. Why did he care now? Why had he bothered to save Tim in the first place? Beyond that, why had he taken the extra step of giving him even minor medical care? Even if somehow the guilt from the night before had forced his hand into saving Tim, there had been no reason to do anything more.

 

Tim didn’t understand at all and although he had any number of questions he wanted to ask, he didn’t think it would be a good idea to ask them in front of Queen Bee. It was best if he did his job as negotiator first and then, when they were alone, asked Damian what in the world was going on.

 

He drew in a low breath that he let out slowly and then swung his legs over the edge of the bed. He was a little dizzy when he stood and his body ached in annoyance with his insistence on moving from a prone position. Still, none of it was enough to impede his ability to function.

 

He walked over to Bee and stopped in front of her, looking down at the woman expressionlessly. Queen Bee glared up at Tim but she seemed distracted, her attention repeatedly returning to Damian with something akin to fear or wariness.

 

After a moment, Tim crouched in front of the rebel leader. His body felt like it creaked in the movement, his head and thigh particularly unhappy and shaky, but he ignored them.

 

“I’m going to take the gag out but if you start screaming or still refuse to cooperate, we may run into a problem,” Tim informed the woman. “So I suggest you work with us and make it easier on everyone.”

 

Queen Bee coughed and shook hair out of her eyes once the gag was removed. Her face was red with anger and her eyes focused on Damian with obvious loathing. Damian just gazed back, looking completely unconcerned.

 

Tim noted the exchange but didn’t react to it. He kept his calm stare centered on Queen Bee. “We’ve been following your progress and we’ve noticed that recently you’ve been in a bit of a bind. We’re offering a solution.”

 

At first, his only response was a low scoff as Bee’s eyes continued to burn into Damian. But then she set her jaw and dragged her gaze away. “If you want to talk, he goes.”

 

“Why should he leave?”

 

“He slaughtered half my men.”

 

Tim considered it. He wasn’t particularly surprised by the information. If his vision was even remotely accurate, many hostiles had been killed in the struggle. Intel had also shown that the leader of Factor 53 seemed to at least care about her people so arguing about the request would be counter-productive.

 

Tim turned his gaze to Damian; icy blue eyes met vivid green. “Do you mind stepping out for a minute?” He asked politely.

 

Damian raised an eyebrow briefly but said nothing. His eyes turned from Tim to Queen Bee, lingering on the tied up woman and the zip tie handcuffs that she was secured with. Only then did the senior agent nod and leave the cabin, shutting the door behind him as he went.

 

Once Damian was gone, Tim looked over to the lady again. With her hands being cuffed and she was sitting on a chair, Tim was not on her eye-level unless he crouched down. Yet, if he stood and towered over the woman, it wouldn’t be conducive to negotiate.

 

One thing he had learned was that in interviews or interrogations, people tended to mimic the interrogator without realizing it. The signals an interrogator gave could subconsciously affect the responses he or she received. The principles were just as important in negotiation, if not more.

 

Crossing his arms would be a defensive position, for instance, and were Queen Bee’ arms loose she may have found herself unconsciously crossing her arms in return. She may have also subconsciously viewed Tim as being distant and may have been, in turn, less open to negotiation.

 

The subtleties of human interaction were even more important in negotiation.

 

Tim wasn’t about to cut the woman loose though. So he pulled another chair over. The chair legs dragged against the wooden floor, making faint vibrations and bumping sounds when they occasionally caught on the space between planks.

 

When he was seated in front of Queen Bee, choosing the distance carefully to be close enough to create subconscious intimacy but far enough away that it wasn’t inappropriate or distracting, Tim met Bee’ eyes.

 

“Rather than waste your time, I’ll get straight to the point. We’ve noted the pressure you’ve been under between the Court’s recruitment and the expectations of your men. As of now, it’s put you in a precarious position. Unfortunately, the Court of Owls will swallow up your group and give you little in return. We have a solution to your dilemma.”

 

“‘We’?” Queen Bee repeated scornfully. She grimaced, showing teeth that looked bloodstained. “I thought you were Jason’s new recruitments, but maybe you are not.” She paused, gauging Tim’s reaction.

 

Tim’s face remained impassive. He did know a Jason, Jason Todd. However, he wasn’t entirely sure if she knew the same Jason or not as it was a fairly common name. In any cases, he would not give away that bit of information.

 

Disappointed by the lack of reaction, the woman pressed on. “I don’t know who sent you or who you are but obviously it’s someone like the Court or _worse_.”

 

“Better or worse are subjective terms that I can’t help you with,” Tim replied neutrally. “But although our strength rivals the Court, we don’t indiscriminately attack innocents and targets alike. The innocent casualties of their attacks have been high in the past and are likely to only grow as they attempt to further strengthen their army. As a woman who started down this path by trying to protect innocent bystanders who had to pay the price of being caught in the middle of a war, I’m sure you can see how this is a worrisome trend. And why we would want to stop it.”

 

Queen Bee shook her head and cut her eyes away, staring out one of the windows.

 

Her features were set grimly, eyes narrowed into distrustful slits.

 

“You people are all the same. You think you can use us to get at your goals. We didn’t form the Holistic Integration for Viral Equality to be pulled into your political wars. We don’t give a fuck about what you want. Our concern is the people of Metropolis and the bullshit politicians there who do what they want, when they want, and treat the people who elected them like scum.”

 

“Unfortunately for you, you’ve already attracted the Court’s attention and they aren’t simply going to go away because you want them to.” Tim shifted forward in the chair, his forearms resting on his knees. “What we’re prepared to offer you is this: You join the Court as our spy. For your protection, you will not tell anyone in Holistic Integration for Viral Equality about it.”

 

He raised his eyebrows slightly to ensure Queen Bee understood the importance of that point, and continued speaking. “You give us information on the Court from the inside and in return, when we no longer need your services, we will provide protection for you and your men. We have no interest in interfering with your fight with Metropolis’ government so you would be free to continue with your mission statement. In addition, the fact that you formally join the Court will look good to your men so you will no longer need to fear defection to Aarons’ side. Working with us will ensure you the security for your men and goals while simultaneously solving the dilemma of your current perception among the ranks.”

 

This time Queen Bee released an ugly bark of a laugh. “Who do you think you’re fooling, boy? You think you’re doing us a favor? You forgot to add on that it will also ensure that we’re under another big organization’s thumb. We aren’t mercenaries. We don’t work for other people, no matter how powerful they are.”

 

Tim watched the woman evenly for a moment and then sighed and leaned back in the chair. “Very well. I’d hoped to avoid this but you’re pushing the matter.” He studied Queen Bee seriously. “Today, a vehicle will be waiting outside Kaysen’s school. It will be driven by a very friendly woman who will tell him she’s a friend of his mother’s and she’s there to bring him home. It’s possible he never makes it home.”

 

His gaze was neutral and didn’t waver. There was an unspoken threat in the intensity as he calmly listed what could happen to Bee’ two kids and ex-wife. “It’s equally possible that Lily drowns when she goes canoeing at Camp Erickson next Wednesday at 1 pm. The counselor who will be with her group will be frantic when he realizes they lost her along the way. When they later find her body, it will be deemed an accident. And as for Jaime, everyone knows your ex-wife smokes, especially when stressed. Sometimes she smokes in bed. Following the family tragedies, no one would blame her for it. Unfortunately, that habit would be hazardous to her health if she fell asleep with a cigarette still burning and lit her house on fire.”

 

Tim continued, “It’s equally possible that instead of any of this, they could be brought in for rigorous questioning until you agree to work with us.” There was little doubt that what he meant, in fact, was torture. “Personally, I think the accidents would be more humane.”

 

The threats were met with silence and a look that could have murdered Tim on the spot if it were possible. Bee had gone ashen and her teeth were grinding together as she strained against the zip tie handcuffs that dug into her wrists.

 

The 53 leader looked as terrified as she was furious. This was a woman who loved her family, even her ex-wife no matter how messy the divorce had been. This was also a woman who would do anything for them; her psych file had made that clear.

 

“I’m not surprised,” she said finally, voice raw and choked. “Anything that would employ a man like that –” she jerked her head to the door. “– would do anything.”

 

Tim didn’t bother commenting on Damian since, from Bee’s perspective, Damian probably had seemed terrifying. After all, Damian could easily kill dozens of men and hardly seem worse for the wear the next day. Tim didn’t think he’d seen a single wound of note on Damian.

 

Instead, he said reasonably, “It doesn’t have to be that way. If I can assure my employers that you’ll work with us, none of that will happen. Of course, we’ll have to keep your family under surveillance in case you decide to warn them about anything, which would be a very poor decision that would end terribly for all of you. Or if you decide to betray us, we would have to reconsider the decision to leave them be. I don’t think you would care for those consequences so my suggestion is you cooperate and avoid these tragedies altogether.”

 

“So it’s all up to me,” Queen Bee said, smiling humorlessly.

 

“It is,” Tim agreed calmly. “I do have some other questions. That can give you some time to consider the offer.”

 

“Questions like what? What else can I tell you that you don’t already know?”

 

“To your knowledge, is your former co-leader, Aarons, and his group also being pursued by the Court?”

 

Queen Bee shook her head, looking slightly relieved at the question. “No. My contact works only with me. Aarons wouldn’t know how to get in touch with them.”

 

“Who is your contact?”

 

This time Bee wasn’t as quick to reply. She shifted in the wooden chair, twisting her arms in the cuffs. “What does it matter?”

 

“The manner the Court contacted you or came to know about the Holistic Integration for Viral Equality is of interest to us,” Tim replied simply. “Especially since you said the contact only works with you. It would seem there’s a reason for that.”

 

There was another stretch of charged silence as their captive seemed to roll this around in her head. Queen Bee was being careful and they were putting her in a difficult spot. Exposing her sources without having it fall on her own shoulders would likely be difficult. But in the end, she just shook her head and looked resigned.

 

“Lucas Trent is my contact. I have a cousin, Sarabeth, who lives in England and rubs elbows with a lot of rich people who have dirty hands.” Bee smirked.

 

“She’s a much in demand... call girl, if you want to use the term. So in demand that she’s pretty much courted by the kind of people that Lucas deals with. She met him at a party and they became friends. When she found out that I was looking for someone to buy arms from, she pointed me in his direction because he has contacts internationally who can set something like that up long term.”

 

Tim nodded in understanding. He didn’t know who Lucas Trent was but he filed the information away for later when he would put it in the report. “How long ago was your first contact with this Lucas?”

 

“About a year. Maybe more.”

 

“And the Court learned of you through him?”

 

The woman shrugged. “I’d never had contact with them beforehand. He said they were looking into expanding and liked our style. They liked the fact that we were going toe to toe with the politicians of Metropolis and fighting back. When they found out that he had dealings with us, they came knocking.”

 

“What has your response been to them so far?”

 

“They know I have reservations.”

 

Tim inclined his head in acknowledgment. He let the silence stretch between them for a long moment as he studied Queen Bee closely. At length, he spoke.

 

“Have you made your decision?”

 

Bee scoffed and continued to stare out the window. “What do you think, boy? You’re not giving me any choice.”

 

Tim nodded once more and stood. “I will make the arrangements.”

 

It didn’t take long to get everything squared away. He retrieved Damian, who hadn’t been that far away from the cabin, and after they figured out all the details they drove Bee into the woods. The rebel leader glared hatefully at Damian nearly the entire time and seemed uncomfortable with being in the same car as him. For his part, Damian didn’t seem to notice or care.

 

They cut Queen Bee loose and dropped her off where she would be able to return to her men without it ever being known where she’d been or with whom. After leaving Bee behind, Tim navigated them toward the major highway that would bring them back to Gotham.

 

Damian was silent in the passenger seat and at first, Tim was distracted with making sure he found the right twists and turns in the countryside. Once they were safely on the highway and the drive started what would become a rather boring stretch of time, Tim looked over and studied Damian with the same intense and thoughtful stare he seemed to find himself turning on that man more than most. But then, most people didn’t perplex Tim as much as Damian did.

 

He remembered the way Damian had looked at him and had studied the zip tie cuffs before leaving Tim alone with Factor 53 leader. Tim noted that along with all the other oddities of the day and now that it was silent he finally felt that he could ask all the questions he’d had to stifle earlier.

 

“Why did you save me?” he asked, his voice breaking into the quiet.

 

Up until this point, Damian had been leaning against the door with his head tilted against the window. Now he looked over, eyebrows drawing down. “Does it matter? You’re alive.”

 

“It matters to me.”

 

Damian sat up straighter, causing the setting sun to cast muted rays against his face.

 

He looked tired and paler than usual which was possibly due a night sleeping in the forest. The woods were considerably cooler once the sun set. His black hair was sticking out everywhere, sticking together from the sweats and he pushed through it with his fingers impatiently.

 

His full lips parted, pressed together and finally, he just scowled. “It’s pointless for you to die. That is basically what I decided.”

 

“Why?” Tim pressed, his curiosity heightened by the reply. “I’m easily replaceable. Agent Roth could take over for me immediately, no doubt, and it’s unlikely anyone would have been surprised to find I hadn’t made it back from this mission.”

 

“Well, maybe I don’t want Roth to be my partner,” was the testy reply.

 

Tim considered Damian, watching him for nuances of his expression. He couldn’t deny that he was somewhat surprised by this entire situation. He hadn’t expected an answer that in any way implied he could be a preferable partner above someone else. It was a curious thought since Tim had felt for most of their partnership that Damian would have been glad to be rid of him.

 

“Her temperament seemed relatively similar to my own,” Tim mused aloud. “I imagine after a day or two you’d hardly notice the difference.”

 

To that, Damian didn’t bother to respond.

 

Tim fell silent, turning his attention to the road as one of the signs flashed by that estimated the amount of distance to various cities. They were still a good sixty-five miles from home.

 

“Thank you.” He looked over at Damian with an expression that was a little less neutral and a little more approachable than usual. “For helping me.”

 

At first, his only answer was a stiff shrug as Damian turned back to the window. He was fidgeting again– absently yanking at a loose string that was hanging out of a rip on his cargo pants. His long fingers pulled at it insistently until the rip began to get slightly wider.

 

“Did I answer your questions the way you wanted me to?” he asked finally, still keeping his head against the window.

 

Tim looked over with eyebrows that drew down. “What do you mean?”

 

“Exactly what I said.” Damian’s eyes had closed at some point and his dusky eyelashes rested against his face. He went on without opening them. “Because if I answered adequately, I’ll expect adequate responses to my question in return.”

 

The reply caused Tim to watch him more closely before he had to turn back to the road. “I do have additional questions,” he admitted.

 

A low sigh. “Which are?”

 

Tim took a moment to consider how to formulate the two questions that were foremost in his mind. He started with the one he hadn’t already asked in some fashion.

 

“In the past, you seemed unconcerned about whether the mission was a success. So why did you make the effort to bring in Queen Bee so we could negotiate with her?”

 

Damian frowned as though he hadn’t expected that question. “There would have been no point in saving you if I’d let the mission fail. They would just terminate you and lock me back up when we returned to the compound. I’m not unaware that this mission is important.”

 

Tim nodded, taking that into account. He was silent for a long moment as he considered that before he spoke again, his tone thoughtful.

 

“I still don’t understand why you saved me. I’ve been trying to determine the reason. I thought about how you bandaged my wounds even though you didn’t have to and how before you left me alone with Bee it seemed that you verified she was adequately secured.”

 

His eyebrows furrowed and his fingers shifted against the steering wheel. “That implies either a concern for the success of the mission or, potentially, some level of concern for my safety. You’ve verified that the success of the mission mattered to you on some level so it could have simply been that. But the fact that you don’t seem to prefer the idea of a new partner and that you had to fight so many people to extract us implies that in some way, at least for a portion of today, it mattered to you that I was okay.”

 

Tim paused, frowning faintly in thought before he looked over at Damian who still had his eyes firmly shut. “I wondered what the reason was for the change, if that was so. Why would it have been fine a few weeks ago if I’d died but now it’s pointless? What’s different?”

 

Damian made a face and finally opened his eyes, turning his head so that he could face Tim. He studied him for awhile, mouth turned down in a slight frown before giving his broad shoulders a shrug. “I hadn’t expected that you would actually... make a good partner. I didn’t think this would work.”

 

Tim watched Damian thoughtfully. After a moment, he returned his attention to the road. There was hardly any traffic but what little sunlight could be seen was angled almost directly into his eyes.

 

“And at some point something made you believe it would?”

 

“Obviously,” Damian said blandly, starting to look impatient.

 

Tim nodded, feeling no need to push it any further. It was interesting to hear that Damian thought he could be a good partner. He had to admit that he was pleased since for weeks it had felt like no matter what he did it didn’t get him anywhere.

 

“What did you want to ask me?”

 

Damian crossed his arms over his chest and reclined in the seat further. He hadn’t bothered with a seatbelt this time. “Why didn’t you just use the remote and activate my collar?”

 

“Because I didn’t feel it was necessary,” Tim said with a shrug.

 

“Ah.”

 

Tim looked over but couldn’t read what Damian was thinking; his expression hadn’t shifted. It occurred to him that Damian may not feel that was answer enough. “And I truly have no interest in harming you.”

 

Pale green eyes flicked over to him at that but Damian’s face still gave nothing away. He looked as intense as ever but just as eerily impossible to figure out.

 

“I didn’t –” A pause. “You should never touch me when I’m sleeping. I react in a manner which I would not if I were fully... aware.”

 

Tim was quiet, watching Damian before shifting his gaze back to the road. He wondered what Damian had been about to say and whether he was, in his own way, trying to apologize. Or whether he was simply laying the ground rules. It was so difficult to tell with him.

 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Tim said with a faint nod. He hesitated, his eyebrows drawing down. “You seemed upset. I thought you were having a nightmare and you didn’t seem to hear my voice. In the future, how do you prefer I wake you?”

 

This seemed to startle Damian. He looked over abruptly, eyebrows shooting up.

 

“What?”

 

“You were clearly upset,” Tim replied, frowning with slightly narrowed eyes as he remembered the way Damian had twitched and sounded distressed. “I touched your hand to wake you. If it happens again, I’d like to know of any alternatives for waking you.”

 

This earned him another long stare from Damian before the man sighed disgustedly. “Well, that’s just _beautiful_.” He shook his head, eyebrows drew together as if he had a headache. “And I don’t know. Just leave me be, I suppose. It’s safer.”

 

Tim wondered about Damian’s response and what had seemed to disgust him. The fact that he’d had the nightmare, the fact that Tim had witnessed it and tried to wake him from it, or the fact that in doing so one or both of them could have gotten hurt? Was it a combination?

 

He didn’t know the answer to that but he did know that it was highly unlikely that he would leave Damian asleep if it happened again. He simply nodded and didn’t verbally respond.

 

Damian didn’t say anything and for a period of time, the car fell back into silence.

 

Traffic picked up a little once they came toward a stretch of the highway that led to a number of larger cities via intersecting interstates. The number of vehicles diminished but did not disappear once they were on the stretch that headed primarily to Gotham.

 

They were still thirty miles out when Tim realized he hadn’t told Damian what Queen Bee had said.

 

“It will be in the report but in the event you don’t read it, Queen Bee named her contact with the Court. His name is Lucas Trent and the connection was gained through Bee’ cousin, who’s an escort in England.”

 

The reaction to this was unexpected. A long suffering sigh escaped Damian’s full lips and he visibly grimaced. “I hate that bastard.”

 

Tim raised his eyebrows. “You know him?”

 

“I’ve had to meet with him… a few times before. He tantalizes the League with information and makes us jump through hoops to get it. I fail utterly at dealing with him. It would be best if I didn’t see him ever again.”

 

“I see,” Tim said after a beat of silence. That was certainly interesting. “Did something happen when you saw him before?”

 

There was a brief, almost uncomfortable silence before Damian said shortly, “You could say that.” His lips pressed together. He seemed almost angry by the memory the question brought up.

 

Tim looked at him sidelong but didn’t have a response to that. It made him wonder what had happened but he didn’t get the impression that Damian would answer. He supposed he’d pushed it enough already, getting the answers he had.

 

They ended up falling into silence again and this time neither of them made any effort to interrupt it. The rest of the trip passed without incident, although Tim noticed that the sheen of sweat on Damian’s face seemed to grow more pronounced over time.

 

When they reached the League, Damian left for his apartment without another word.

 

It didn’t take Tim long to submit his report and he headed home immediately afterward. He ended up making some coffee and then realized he didn’t know exactly what he wanted to do. He debated it for a few moments and then decided to finish looking into the information Stephanie had provided him.

 

At first, a lot of what he found was similar to what he’d seen before. There were excerpts from reports, some more images, some video clips from missions, and more background. One thing Tim noted was that there still wasn’t a lot about Damian’s early life.

 

There was nothing on his mother and all it really said about his father was that he’d been a well-known, well-regarded agent. Tim suspected there had to have been more on a man who’d apparently spent years at the League. He wondered whether the lack of it was due to information being on lock down. It was also possible Stephanie simply hadn’t been interested in gathering any of that since he’d grown up on the compound and likely already knew anything he wanted to about Bruce Wayne.

 

Whatever the case, Tim still had a few folders to go through when he ended up clicking on one of the several files with extensions he didn’t recognize. They were named variations of ‘cam01’ and it quickly became apparent why.

 

An image of an empty apartment came on screen; the walls were white and the furniture was plain but looked as though it would be comfortable enough. He heard sounds over the speakers and realized that this was a video. He didn’t see anything happening but there seemed to be shadows passing just on the edge of the screen.

 

He closed down the file and clicked on the others, flipping through a bedroom and a kitchen until Damian’s face was abruptly on screen. It was startling and a little alarming, since Damian was staring seemingly straight out the screen at Tim. It took Tim a moment to realize based on clues in the background that this appeared to be a camera of some sort in a bathroom mirror.

 

At first, Tim thought these were videos but he realized as he watched that they weren’t. This appeared to be a live feed to cameras that Stephanie had hacked into.

 

He didn’t have much time to think about those implications as his attention was instead caught by what Damian was doing.

 

Damian was very pale, his naturally olive complexion ashen. His lips were parted as his breath came out labored and choppy, eyebrows furrowed together as he tended to himself with trembling hands. His eyes were glazed slightly, his full lips pressed into a tight line.

 

It was startling to see such a stoic man show pain and it made Tim’s attention zero in completely on the screen. He forgot about the coffee, he forgot about the other files. He couldn’t look away from Damian and the glimpse of an open expression such as he hadn’t seen since Damian had run out of the cabin.

 

On the screen, Damian shifted and looked down until the shadow hid part of his face. He appeared to be taping up his arm with a bandage that was already stained crimson. Now that Tim could see his chest and arms, he also saw that there was a variety of lacerations and bruises on Damian aside from whatever wound he was tending to – including a bruise that was an intense shade of purple and covered his entire left side.

 

Judging from what Tim could see of the sink, the arm wound was more serious than the rest. Blood was everywhere; running down his arm and leaving small puddles in the sink. Tim then saw the pliers, peroxide, and the unmistakable sheen of a bullet coated in blood.

 

Tim’s thoughts stilled and he stared in muted surprise and a hint of discomfort.

 

After a moment of gripping the sides of the sink with his long slender fingers, Damian stepped back. All he wore were loose jeans that hung precariously on his thin hips. He grabbed a small pill bottle from the counter with a grimace, opened it and swallowed a handful dry. He tossed the bottle back into the sink and stood there for a moment, looking at the mirror.

 

He truly looked terrible and for a moment, Tim wondered if the other man had gotten some kind of infection. He’d suffered from blood loss and an exposed wound for hours. It would explain the sweat and his pallor.

 

After a moment Damian took a long deep breath and seemed to be trying to get himself together. He stood up straight, ran a hand through his short black hair and wiped sweat from his face. But the movement caused him to grimace again, his teeth flashing as he clenched them. It wasn’t obvious if it was the arm wound causing him such tremendous pain or the entire collection that he’d accumulated during the mission.

 

He stayed that way for a moment longer before a resigned look crossed his striking features and Damian climbed into the bathtub. He curled up in there, facing away.

 

Tim couldn’t drag his eyes from the screen, even when Damian lay there for a long time. He had obviously been hurt saving Tim. With the amount of gunfire that had been flying around, at least as far as he remembered; it was a testament to Damian’s skill and speed that he didn’t have more wounds. But then, the fact that he’d been hit at all showed how difficult it must have been.

 

It caused a flash of guilt in Tim. At the same time, it made him wonder why Damian had hidden it. Was it simply ingrained to show no weakness to anyone since it seemed like so many people at the League preyed on him? Or had it been something specific to Tim? It had seemed like Damian thought of him a little more as a partner but perhaps he still didn’t trust Tim despite the fact that he’d saved his life. Whatever the case, something about seeing vulnerability in a man who otherwise exuded such strength caught Tim’s attention in a way he hadn’t expected. That glimpse of Damian seemed so elusive compared to the way he conducted himself on a daily basis.

 

Something in Tim reacted to it; something that felt a connection and made him want to see more of that side of Damian. It made him not want to look away from the screen so he wouldn’t miss another fluctuation; another moment of openness in an otherwise guarded face.

 

At length, Damian stilled and it seemed as though he could be trying to sleep. When it was apparent nothing was changing in the bathroom, Tim flipped back to the other files, paying more attention this time. It appeared to be a League apartment, which was unsurprising since this was probably where Damian lived.

 

If that was the case, Damian apparently didn’t have privacy anywhere.

 

There was a camera view for seemingly every angle of his apartment. The fact that Tim would be able to see Damian in his bedroom, in the bathroom, in what seemed to be every inch of an apartment... His eyes narrowed and lips thinned, and he leaned back in his chair.

 

He didn’t like it. As a person who valued his privacy, the idea of everything being on display was disturbing. Especially in the shower, since he didn’t even look at himself in the mirror when he was in the bathroom. He always looked away and didn’t feel comfortable with the air hitting the bare skin of his torso even when he was alone. It was mildly nauseating to put himself in Damian’s place and think of everything being bared without his permission.

 

Did Damian know about the cameras?

 

Was any of this with his consent? Doubtful. Did he know he was being watched?

 

Maybe he did but again, Tim doubted he’d known about the one in the bathroom. A man who had ridden in silence with a gunshot wound wouldn’t have let pain show so easily if he’d known anyone would see it.

 

It made Tim wonder who all had access to these feeds. Who may be watching now as well, analyzing Damian and noting any vulnerabilities.

 

* * *

 

The next morning seemed to come too soon. Tim had ended up going through the rest of the information and then watching Damian sleep for an extended period of time. He didn’t know how long he was up and he didn’t know why he’d watched Damian for so long.

 

He couldn’t forget Damian’s pained expression or the glimpse of emotion before Damian had run from the cabin. Those moments contrasted with so many of the other times he’d been around Damian and it made him wonder what had been happening behind those sarcastic looks all along.

 

He found it to be distracting and tried to push it out of his mind.

 

He may have been successful if it hadn’t been for the fact that when he walked into the conference room for the debriefing, Damian was there. It was the first time Damian had shown for a debriefing and it was surprising enough to Tim that his steps slowed when he walked in.

 

Damian looked up at him steadily, eyebrows rising. “Late.”

 

Tim couldn’t help staring at Damian. If he hadn’t watched the live feed, he would not have believed that Damian was injured, nor that the vulnerable look he’d seen would ever be on that face. At the moment, Damian had more of a silent ‘I told you so’ look than anything.

 

It took a moment but Tim got himself to move again, continuing toward the chair he typically used. Which turned out to be next to the one Damian had chosen. No one else had arrived yet and Tim considered replying that he was early but he was more curious about Damian’s presence.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he sat down.

 

“If I’m going to start being your partner, I supposed it meant I had to show up here.” Damian slouched in his chair and studied Tim from his long eyelashes.

 

“Why? Do you want me to go?”

 

“Of course not,” Tim said, pushing the chair at an angle so he could see Damian without craning his neck. “I was simply surprised to see you.”

 

“I see.” Damian looked at him and began absently tearing at a frayed pocket in his cargo pants.

 

Tim continued to watch Damian. Nothing changed; the room remained silent and no one walked in. After a moment, he decided to try to see if Damian would voluntarily acknowledge his wound or whether he would keep it a secret.

 

“Incidentally, how are you?” Tim asked. “I didn’t think to ask you yesterday if you had any troubles executing the mission.”

 

“It went as expected,” was the vague response. Damian’s green eyes slid away as he answered, focusing briefly on the door.

 

Tim watched Damian thoughtfully. He supposed that could be a true enough answer; it would have been expected that with such heavy gunfire Damian would get hit at some point. But if he hadn’t known Damian had been injured he would have assumed that meant there were no issues.

 

He wondered if Damian had purposefully chosen that wording so as not to lie or whether it was incidental. Was he simply trying to be vague enough to stop Tim from questioning him further?

 

He couldn’t push the subject without making it known that he’d seen the live feed, which he was hesitant to do. He didn’t think Damian would appreciate the invasion of privacy. Yet he didn’t want to give up the chance to see those glimpses of the more open, vulnerable man behind that strong demeanor.

 

Tim’s gaze lingered on Damian’s features, which he couldn’t help distantly noting added to his allure, before he looked away with a nod. “I wanted you to know that I appreciate your willingness to help and interact.”

 

Damian made a face, eyes swinging back to Tim. “Don’t start thanking me. I almost killed you five hours before the mission.”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Tim said impassively with a shrug. “It would have been an accident.”

 

This earned him another incredulous glare. “Well, it matters to me. If I’d have killed your dumb ass, the odds of me finding as good a partner are slim to none. So just ensure that you don’t pass on too quickly. I’m starting to get used to you.”

 

The comment caused Tim to look over at Damian with a more alert expression than he’d had since they’d met. He stared at Damian a moment, his lips parting and eyebrows shifting up slightly as he searched Damian’s expression, but words wouldn’t immediately come to him.

 

The distant emptiness he typically surrounded himself with cleared for a moment at the surprising idea that someone cared about his life. That Damian actually did want him as a partner and that it wasn’t meaningless to him if he died.

 

Even his mother didn’t seem to care if he lived or died and most of the people on compound had thought Tim wouldn’t last more than a few weeks. Many of them seemed to hope that would be the case. Tim himself was already resigned to the idea of his death so having Damian, of all people, comment against it made a strange sense of warmth flood through him.

 

A smile spread across his lips at the thought. It was small but genuine and it lingered briefly. A flash of surprise crossed Damian’s face and his eyes briefly dropped to Tim’s mouth.

 

Tim studied Damian’s expression, wondering about that look. He opened his mouth to speak but before he could, a sound at the door caught his attention. His expression automatically closed off, returning to a blank stare before he’d fully turned his head. Out of the corner of his eye, he glimpsed a flash of annoyance on Damian’s face.

 

“Hola!” Stephanie’s voice sang out even before the door had fully opened. “How –”

 

The words abruptly cut off as Steph focused on Damian and she froze in mid-step, gawking. “Dami!”

 

Damian stared at her flatly, mouth turned down.

 

“Uh...” Stephanie trailed off and began walking again awkwardly, jerking at the straps to her backpack and tripping her way to her side of the table. “Wow, I didn’t expect to uh, see you... ever.”

 

The senior agent didn’t reply and switched his gaze to the wall.

 

Steph gave an awkward laugh and was clearly trying to make up for her lapse. She was unhooking her backpack and opening it up but her gaze kept straying back to Damian who studiously ignored the girl.

 

“Hello, Steph,” Tim greeted, partially as a way to break the awkward silence. “Are the others on their way?”

 

“Cass’ probably stopping to get coffee for everyone,” the R&D agent replied quickly. She was still flushed red from embarrassment and fiddling with her laptop. She seemed to be one of the few people who still preferred a laptop over thinner handheld devices.

 

“So, how are you guys?” she asked, awkwardness still as prominent as it had been a few seconds ago. She snuck a glance at Damian out of the corner of her eye.

 

“Grand,” Damian said blandly.

 

“Fine,” Tim said. “And you?”

 

“Oh, you know. Busy, not being able to sleep because of all of my projects – although... oh! That reminds me,” Stephanie burst out, looking over at Tim but not before her gaze stumbled over Damian once again. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to come watch anime with me. I just downloaded a series I’ve been searching for forever. It’s super old.”

 

Damian’s gaze switched to Tim but he said nothing. The information seemed to catch his attention although Tim had no idea why.

 

“Is it the one you have on the walls with the robots?” Tim asked, not knowing much about anime or what kinds of series existed.

 

“Nope but if you’re interested in mecha, I have a ton of Gundam stuff. The series I found was called Rurouni Kenshin. It’s _so_ cool; it takes place in the 19 th century and is about this awesome samurai guy in Japan.”

 

“Where else would a samurai be?” Damian commented, eyes still on Tim. He only shifted them after Tim returned the stare once again. Stephanie shifted uncomfortably in her chair before shrugging. “I dunno. I was just explaining...”

 

“I don’t know what I’m interested in,” Tim admitted, turning his attention back to Stephanie. He didn’t know what mecha meant but apparently, it had something to do with young men and robots with wings. “The series you mentioned is fine. Is it historically accurate?” he added curiously.

 

“I’m not sure so far, it just finished today. I didn’t want to start until I had it all. There’s a movie too.” Stephanie flicked a look over at Damian. “Hey, you know, you could –”

 

“No.”

 

“Okay...” The female agent frowned but didn’t seem terribly surprised.

 

The door opened before any of them could speak. Cassandra shuffled in, her eyes half-lidded. She looked across the room and stopped just inside the door when her eyes fell on Damian. She stared at Damian, looked down at the tray of coffee she carried with her, and then turned around and headed back for the door.

 

“Where are you going?” Stephanie demanded, sitting up straight. “Cass!”

 

“Missing one,” Cassandra mumbled as she continued heading toward the door. “Need another one. For the whole group.”

 

Damian’s gaze flicked over Cassandra before moving to Stephanie. He didn’t appear very moved by any of this but then again, he always looked that way around other people. Finally, he decided to speak up curtly. “Not interested in coffee.”

 

That seemed to decide it for Stephanie because she spoke up.

 

“He doesn’t want one. Come sit down before Kate gets here and starts badgering everyone.”

 

Cass made a face and stopped. She turned around, peering at Damian again and then looking over at Tim and finally Steph. After a pause she shuffled back over to the table and sat down next to Stephanie, carefully setting the coffee tray on the table. She passed everyone a coffee but Damian.

 

Her sharp gaze didn’t waver on Damian even as she leaned over to Stephanie. Steph seemed to take it as her permission to speak because she whispered in her friend’s ear. “Okay but just so we’re clear... Damian Wayne is sitting on the other side of the table right now and I’m not imagining it? I’ve been having some weird dreams lately so I don’t know what’s going on right now. I might look down and realize I’m naked.”

 

A low scoff emanated from Damian’s full lips and he slouched down in his chair, tapping his knuckles impatiently against the desk. Now that other people were in the room with them it seemed like he couldn’t wait to leave.

 

“He’s… here,” Cass confirmed with an encouraging half-smile, apparently deciding to pay no attention to Damian’s unfriendly behavior. “I’m… happy. More efficient work from now.”

 

“Oh yeah, it’s all good,” Stephanie said, relaxing and finally looking away from Damian.

 

The blonde agent took a long drink of coffee and immediately grimaced, her entire face scrunching up. She looked over at Cass with her eyebrows dragging down. “I just didn’t wanna be hallucinating in the middle of meetings again. I got a lot of dirty looks the time it happened with Luthor. I don’t know why it’s such a big deal anyway. It would’ve been way more exciting if there really were tap-dancing penguins in there, even if it made it kind of hard to concentrate.”

 

Tim didn’t pay much attention to Stephanie as he found his gaze straying to Damian. He wondered if Damian didn’t want to be around others at all or whether it was specifically the way Stephanie and Cassandra were acting that caused his impatience. Given how uninterested Damian had seemed for a long time in even interacting with Tim when they were alone, Tim assumed it must simply be the idea of being around a lot of other people.

 

It made him wonder why exactly Damian had come. Was it really that he was trying to make more of an effort to be a good partner? Was he finally putting some amount of stock in this whole process? Or, perhaps, had General Clark or someone else recently told him he needed to start attending the meetings?

 

He thought that maybe it really was just that Damian was trying to be nice but he wasn’t certain if he only thought that because that was what he wanted to believe. He knew that there was more to Damian than his gruff exterior but some of his motivations were still a mystery to Tim.

 

The door opened and Clark and Kate arrived at the same time. The general’s gaze immediately fell on Damian and he arched an eyebrow as he took his spot at the head of the table. “Nice of you to finally join us.”

 

“No problem,” Damian replied with a smirk. “Nice group of misfits you have here.”

 

Cass rested her chin against her palm, still looking half-asleep. She raised one hand briefly, just a flick of her wrist, with a look that clearly said ‘guilty as charged.’

 

Kate’s eyes narrowed and she stared at Damian in clear distaste as she took her seat across the table. Her lips were thinned and for a moment it seemed she planned to say something but in the end, she remained silent.

 

Clark ignored the comment and looked between his two field agents. There was a slightly pleased tilt to his mouth but he evened it out after a moment and turned to business.

 

They went over the mission with Tim doing most of the talking. Damian didn’t speak even when it came up how Tim and Queen Bee had been saved. From time to time, Tim noticed Damian observing him but for the most part, Tim ignored it as they discussed the mission and information he’d been given by Bee.

 

It wasn’t until Tim mentioned Lucas’ name that the routine of the debriefing seemed broken.

 

“Oh no,” Steph groaned with an almost comical grimace. “Not that guy again. Ugh. And also, my sources all dried up with him. They lost touch or don’t have any access to him anymore. We’d have to go through the civilian route to get in touch with him.”

 

Cass took a long drink of coffee, made a face, and set the cup down heavily. She nodded tiredly, seemingly barely listening before something apparently clicked. Her head shot up and she straightened abruptly, looking between Stephanie and Clark. “…Is it… We’re talking about… Midnighter? I know… direct connection… to him.” She contributed jerkily.

 

“Good,” Clark said. “We’ll get a feel on how agreeable he’s feeling lately and decide how to approach him from there. If he is having recent contact with the Court shot callers, that goes directly against his previous claims that he’d fallen out of contact with them.”

 

“Who is he exactly?” Tim asked, looking at the others with slightly drawn eyebrows. Looks were exchanged around the table and Damian rolled his eyes. “A pointless ex-fed with lots of connections.”

 

“Basically,” Kate agreed with a snort of amusement. For a moment, she seemed to loosen but then she turned serious once again.

 

“Yeah, I don’t think anyone wants to claim him as their BFF,” Steph said and then finished off the rest of her coffee in one gulp. When she made a face and started to set it down, Kate snatched the cup from her hands and moved it well out of Stephanie’s reach.

 

“Whoa,” Steph said in surprise, looking over at Kate. “What’s with the ninja move?”

 

“You’ll play with it and irritate us otherwise,” Kate said shortly, turning her attention to the General.

 

Clark, once again, ignored the side comments and looked directly at Tim. “Lucas Trent used to be a federal agent. After his sudden discharge of the force, he disappeared for a while only to surface with a suspicious amount of wealth. He uses his vast wealth to either help or hinder different political groups in Western Europe. His father had been one of the first benefactors of the Court when they were nothing more than a fledgling group but when he died, Lucas didn’t show that same exclusivity and instead began playing various groups against each other seemingly for his own amusement.”

 

He paused and glanced at Damian. “We’ve had previous dealings with Lucas. In the past he’s shown interest in helping America gain access to certain people but he’s very temperamental. The most recent negotiation with him ended in disaster when Damian took the liberty of insulting him to the extent of the mission failing.”

 

“He’s a condescending fuck,” Damian replied with a snarl. “He also made comments about Grayson’s backside.”

 

Tim leaned back in his chair, studying Damian briefly. This was the first time he heard Damian mentioned his brother’s name. It seemed he was very protective of Dick Grayson. Tim couldn’t imagine how else a person would get angry by the comment about someone’s appearance. Tim decided to push the information aside and ask the General another one. “Are there worries that despite his interest in helping America in the past he may be uninterested in negotiating with us again?”

 

“It’s possible. But we won’t know for certain until we contact him. At that time, we’ll have a follow-up.” Clark looked at Cass. “Get your source on this as soon as possible. I want a contact number immediately.”

 

“Understood,” Cass said with a nod. “As soon as possible.” She looked into her coffee cup, tilting it slightly to look at the leftover coffee.

 

Kate glared at Cass from the side, likely criticizing her for not focusing fully on the briefing.

 

Clark shook his head. “If no one has anything further to add, we’ll wrap up for now. Cass, I expect you to be in touch within the hour.”

 

Cass nodded again, although this time she eyed the General briefly as if wondering if she was in trouble.

 

No one spoke and Clark soon left. Kate wasn’t far behind him, pointedly taking the cup with her and throwing it out in the garbage on the way out. Cass rolled her eyes but she left unusually quickly as well, no doubt to work on her assignment.

 

“Don’t mind Kate, by the way. She has a permanent case of seriousness,” Stephanie confided, glancing at Damian with a brief hopeful grin. When she got a non-response in return, the R&D agent sighed and looked over at Tim again. “Well, if you’re interested in the anime let me know.”

 

That being said, she gathered her stuff quickly and headed out of the room. When the door shut, Damian looked over at Tim with raised eyebrows. “Interesting.”

 

“That does seem to be the best word to describe the unit,” Tim replied, inclining his head in agreement.

 

Damian just shook his head and shoved his chair back, dropping his hands on the arms of the chair as if to push himself up. He didn’t do it automatically though and his vivid green eyes rested on Tim for a long moment. There was something almost curious about his gaze and it was the most deliberately open Tim had seen his expression so far.

 

But then the senior agent shook his head and stood. “Well, I’m off to the training room to likely be hassled by complete morons.”

 

“Is that the one on the first floor?”

 

“Yes. It’s an unfortunate place to go because it’s widely used by every single idiot on the compound but it offers a wide variety of equipment to work out and spar if you want to do that sort of thing.” There was another pause and then he added, “My new found freedom to roam the compound leads me there more often than not.”

 

Tim’s gaze hovered on Damian. He was unaccustomed to Damian offering up so much information. It was nice and almost seemed as though Damian was still interested in interacting even when they weren’t on a mission. He nodded, pulling some hair behind his ear.

 

“That’s good to know. I’m primarily used to the training complex but I don’t have access to it anymore. Are there places where a person can be left alone or does it get too crowded?”

 

“There are private rooms.” Another pause. “You should consider utilizing the area. To further your training.”

 

“I will.” Tim’s lips tilted up a hint on the edges in a quiet smile that was gone almost before it was there. “Thank you. I’ve needed a place to go.”

 

Damian looked at him sidelong and then after a stretch, nodded curtly as he turned away. “I’ll see you around.”

 

Tim nodded and watched Damian leave. The latest mission seemed to have changed a lot in even the peripheral parts of their interaction. It was somewhat unexpected. He’d as much as expected to die the day before and now not only was he alive, but a goal he’d been struggling with for weeks was realized as well.

 

He couldn’t help feeling intrigued by this new possibility. He wanted to know more about Damian when he wasn’t on guard. He’d thought he would only be able to do that by watching the live feed but now he was starting to wonder if maybe he’d have the opportunity to see it firsthand.

 

As he stood, he thought about the training room. Maybe if he started stopping by there he could train but also get the chance to observe Damian. Maybe Damian would continue to talk to him as an equal if they ran into each other there.

 

He was still considering the idea when he left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~P/S: So, Lucas Trent, huh?~~
> 
> **Next chapter:**
> 
> Damian opened his mouth to reply but halted abruptly. Frustratingly enough, he found that he didn't know what to say in response. There was something intriguing about the way Timothy’s eyes were flashing at the moment; about the way his quiet voice had an undercurrent of vehemence on Damian’s behalf. It was so unexpected and bizarre that he could only shake his head as he tried to form proper words. The only ones who had ever bothered doing so to him were Richard and Jason. And they were family. Timothy wasn’t… It was… 
> 
> “You defended me, that was enough. And I...” he trailed off for a moment, looking away before shrugging, aiming for a casual gesture. “I appreciate it. No one ever has before beside Grayson and Todd. But taking it further isn't necessary. I would not like... to see you once again get hurt because you were trying to help me.”


	12. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the sneak peak ~~not really~~ but I did tell you 12 would be a big one, too *winks*
> 
> Now, without further delay, please do enjoy the Damian's POV chapter, people :D I hope I didn't disappoint :D
> 
> Happy belated birthday, baby bird!!! <3

 

When Damian woke up, it was with a flash of panic. Sweat was running down the sides of his face as his heart galloped in his chest. The last of the nightmare haunted his peripheral vision but when he jerked his gaze to the darkened corner, he found nothing unusual there.

 

Slumping back against the bed, he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. There was a distinct tremor in his limbs and his breath was still coming fast. Phantom aches echoed through his body as though he’d really experienced whatever had happened in his dream.

 

He pressed the heel of his hand to his eyes and ground his teeth together. Trying to remember the entirety of it was always pointless. He’d had the same nightmare countless times before. Recently, it had started coming more often. But no matter how worn out he felt after waking up, no matter how dismayed he was – only flashes of it remained.

 

_Flashes of a body being dragged through tall grass or weeds, a slack mouth, and fingers trailing limply through the dirt. Moonlight bouncing off glinting metal. Dying, yellow grass stained with blood, rocks and the moon hovering in the blackened sky. A hand on his shoulder, squeezing gently._

 

“Fuck.”

 

Damian opened his eyes again and pulled himself into a sitting position. His head was pounding but the ghostly pain in his torso that had accompanied it gradually faded. It was always the same when he woke up – strange aches as though he’d just been in a fight and a clawing horror that made his heart catch in his throat. But he never remembered. He never could.

 

Throwing his legs over the side of the bed, Damian combed his fingers through his hair. Disgruntled and irritated over being plagued by the nightmare so frequently, he rolled his stiff shoulders in an attempt to relieve the tension from them. He didn’t understand the dream or why it had such an effect on him. The fact that he woke up in a cold sweat was bad enough but the idea that he thrashed and yelled in his sleep was even worse. It still annoyed the hell out of him that Timothy had witnessed it firsthand.

 

Damian stood up and headed to the bathroom, shoving off the loose gray pants he’d worn to sleep. The daylight streaming into the apartment windows seemed too bright compared to the darkness of his bedroom, even if the sun was still muted behind clouds. It made him wince as his head pounded but he felt simultaneous relief as the dream drifted further away.

 

However, his brain didn’t stop feeling muddled and confused until he stepped under the powerful streams of water from the shower. It plastered the sweaty hair back against his head and face, cooling his uncomfortably heated flesh. He smoothed his soaked bangs away and kept his face tilted up against the cold water. It felt good.

 

It was stupid to continuously revel in the feel of a normal shower but he couldn’t help it. The fact that he had his own apartment was something that consistently surprised and pleased him in general.

 

It was something he’d never had before; his own space. It was a standard League apartment and was Spartan by default but it was still his own. He likely would never be able to add his own furniture to it like most people could but he didn’t really have the desire to do so either. It didn’t matter to him what it looked like; all that mattered to him was that he had it. So much of his life had been spent under the watchful eye of other people, in one trapped circumstance or another. This was the first time he was on his own.

 

Of course, he was still confined to the compound unless he had supervision and guards stood in front of his apartment door at all times but it was better than what he’d had before. He often wondered how Kent had managed to convince Luthor to finally let him have his own quarters. The Marshal had never shown any interest in treating Damian like a normal human in the past. Perhaps they thought if they chose this tactic, he’d be more likely to cooperate. If that was the case, he couldn’t deny that it had been a motivating factor.

 

Well, that and the fact that Timothy had turned out not so bad.

 

Damian opened his eyes, lips drawing down in a frown as he finally reached for a washcloth and soap. The thought of Timothy unsettled him in a way that he didn’t entirely understand. He’d had mixed thoughts about the older man from the moment he’d seen him during the interview and he still didn’t know entirely what to make of him. For someone who had seemed so taciturn at the start, Timothy had slowly morphed into not only a decent partner but a companion of sorts.

 

It had struck Damian as odd almost instantly and for a while, he hadn’t been able to figure out why their conversations had thrown him off so badly. Then he’d realized that during his entire time at the League, Timothy was the first person to really talk to him. Kent consistently tried and failed but Damian could never look at the man without thinking he had some kind of motive. Timothy, however, didn’t seem to have any. It was possible that it was all just a ploy to get under Damian’s  skin and keep their partnership working but if it was, Damian still couldn’t deny that having someone around who didn’t shudder at the sight of him was nice. Especially since Timothy had more of a reason to fear him than anyone after their nearly disastrous mission outside of Metropolis two weeks ago.

 

The thought of it once again pulled his full lips down into a scowl.

 

The worst part of it was that he didn’t remember anything until the point where he’d already been crushing Timothy against the floor. It was just like the other times – the other _episodes_ , as the League liked to call them. The difference was, for some reason, this time he’d been able to snap out of it before the damage had been done. He didn’t know why he’d been able to and he had doubts that either of them would be as lucky again.

 

Scrubbing himself quickly and allowing the powerful jets of water to rinse him off, Damian had reached over to shut the faucet off when he heard it; the low click of his door opening and footsteps treading inside.

 

Resentful irritation flooded him and all thoughts of his nightmares vanished. It galled him to know that people had access to his apartment. In fact, it really fucking pissed him off. It half made him want to storm into the living room naked and crack someone’s skull open. But that would only lead to him being dragged off to the Fourth for a couple of weeks in the box before yet another bastard came waltzing back into his apartment a few days later uninvited and unwanted. Assuming they let him out this time.

 

Stepping out of the shower with a grimace, he wrapped a towel around his waist and looked in the mirror. The bruises were slowly fading from his torso but the wound from the gunshot was still painful and raw looking. After the first couple of days of caring for it, he’d been forced to go to the medical wing to make sure it hadn’t gotten infected.

 

As little as he liked having them attend to him, an infection wasn’t something he could fix on his own.

 

There were sounds emanating from his living room and faint conversation.

 

Whoever it was sounded impatient but he didn’t give a shit. He turned on the faucet and brushed his teeth slowly before taking the time to actually comb his hair. It would have been amusing to walk out completely naked but at the last minute, he dragged on the cotton pants. He didn’t feel like having anyone gawk at his scars.

 

Still damp from the shower, Damian stalked out into the main room and stared flatly at the man waiting for him there.

 

Garfield Lynns was an upper tiered support staff agent who’d been exclusively tasked with Damian. He’d made his presence known not long after Damian had relocated to the apartment and had explained how the supply cards worked, when deliveries were made and how money was removed from his accounts. It felt like the worst kind of babysitting to have someone literally purchase and deliver all of his food and supplies but apparently every agent who lived on compound utilized this function.

 

Personally, Damian would have preferred to do these things himself but since he wasn’t even allowed off the compound alone, that wasn’t going to happen. It also didn’t help that unlike other agents, he didn’t even have direct access to his own money.

 

“You didn’t submit your supply card,” Lynns said almost immediately upon seeing Damian. He was flanked by Officers Kemp and Daniels, two of the guards that manned Damian’s door. Lynns crossed his arms over his gray dress shirt and frowned disapprovingly. It was one of the two expressions he typically wore when looking at Damian; the other was a condescending sneer.

 

Damian shrugged and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest loosely. “Yeah, and?”

 

As usual, this response seemed to irritate Lynns and his scowl deepened. He was one of those support guys who took their jobs way too seriously. A lot of people in support roles had once been candidates for something more high ranking such as field, R&D, IT or techs of some kind and had failed the required training to move on. It landed them in varying roles around the compound and there were always those individuals who made themselves believe that they were still really important just to get over the disappointment of being demoted. Damian had a feeling that Lynns was one of those people. He seemed to think that the world would come to an end if anyone submitted a late supply card.

 

“Yes, and you aren’t the only person I have to deal with, Wayne.”

 

“So quit. Tell them to send someone with a shorter stick up their ass.”

 

Daniels snickered and just raised his eyebrows when Lynns cast him an icy glare.

 

“Where is the card?”

 

Damian gestured vaguely to the kitchen counter and didn’t bother to move. Lynns was hardly the rudest person he had to deal with on the compound but he still got under Damian’s skin.

 

Lynns jammed the card into a panel computer and waited impatiently as the information loaded. It didn’t take long for the man’s eyes to flick back up incredulously. “You didn’t select anything!”

 

“I don’t like anything on it,” Damian replied with a shrug, not moving from his position by the wall. “You people gave me bullshit options. I don’t like fish and that’s most of what’s on there. Don’t most people get to choose their own food?”

 

“You aren’t most people so you’ll just have to get over it. It’s not my problem what you like and don’t like.”

 

Green eyes narrowed and Damian had a vivid mental image of caving Lynns’s face in. Seeming to realize his misstep, Lynns shifted uncomfortably and glanced at the guards behind him as if to ensure that they were still there. “You are on a protein specific diet until you reach your weight and muscle goal.”

 

“It’s not my goal,” Damian retorted, feeling the irritation rising even further. “If you people want to tell me what the fuck to eat, why don’t you just send me whatever you want? Giving me the illusion of choice isn’t going to change the fact that I have none.”

 

“I don’t have time to sit around making your selections –”

 

“Well, I suggest you make time and stop charging into my apartment in full bitch mode.” Damian looked the other man up and down, taking in the sandy hair and lean body.

 

He was more attractive than average and Damian briefly wondered what he’d initially tried out for. If it was for a field agent position, he had Valentine operative written all over him.

 

“I don’t care about your sense of superiority or your high horse, _stock boy._ But if you keep speaking to me that way I’d have no problem knocking you right off it.”

 

“Was that a threat?” Lynns demanded, eyes narrowing. “I dare you to –”

 

“Okay,” Daniels interrupted, looking exasperated. “Just take the supply card and shut the hell up already. Jesus, you’re like a fucking woman on her rag.”

 

Both Damian and Kemp looked at Daniels in surprise. Lynns just flushed and sent the guard a withering look. “Stay out of it, guard.”

 

“Well then, hurry up, _stock boy,_ ” Daniels returned, using Damian’s description. “We don’t have all day.”

 

Lynns appeared completely thrown off by this turn of events and he grumbled something incoherent before shoving the card in his pocket. Mortified and resentful, he shot Damian another annoyed look and stormed out of the apartment. The guards followed without sparing Damian another glance.

 

Damian turned away from the door and stared at the window. He wanted to feel grateful that they had gone but whatever enjoyment he would have gotten from being in his apartment and not on a mission today was effectively spoiled. He’d known from the start that privacy was nonexistent in his world but it still irked him that people actually had access to his locks.

 

It was possible that maintenance and support staff had access to all League apartments but he highly doubted they typically talked down to agents the way Lynns did to him. There was usually a certain level of respect as a person’s rank increased but that obviously didn’t apply to him.

 

And Lynns was far from the only one who acted that way. Being ultimately despised and disliked by the League staff as a whole made that a given. Given the things he’d done along with the rumors that added to it, at times Damian couldn’t even blame them.

 

Aggravated by the encounter, Damian stalked around the apartment trying to find something to do. His books no longer seemed entertaining and doing sit ups quickly became boring. The entire place seemed tainted now and nothing was enjoyable. The concept of personal space was shattered every time some asshole with a sense of authority came bursting in.

 

Disgusted, he went into his room and stared at the meager articles of clothing that he owned. It didn’t take long to grab a pair of worn sweatpants and a threadbare t-shirt. None of it fit him exactly right but it was clothing he’d owned since he was a teenager and it served its purpose for the training room.

 

Damian didn’t look at Daniels or Kemp as he left the apartment and stalked down the hallway. He could feel their eyes on his back as he went but he didn’t bother to acknowledge them. He could tell already that it was going to be a terrible day but his desire to work off the aggression that had steadily built in him was stronger than the desire to be left alone.

 

As usual, the compound was relatively quiet around his residential building. It was set apart from the others and was considerably smaller due to the fact that it was meant for special cases. There were the usual guards posted by the main doors who stared at him as he went by but other than that, he was left alone on the walk across the courtyard. It wasn’t until he got closer to the Tower that crowds of people began to appear.

 

The tension that had built on his shoulders only worsened as he walked up the steps. He didn’t have social anxiety but he did have idiotic agent anxiety. Most people avoided him or went in a different direction if he came near them but there was always someone who would inevitably piss him off. He was dully hoping that Lynns had fulfilled the universe’s asshole quota for the day just so he could work out in peace. It didn’t take long to figure out that that wouldn’t be the case.

 

It started out well enough; he’d managed to get the only remaining private room off the side of the main training space so that he wouldn’t have to deal with gawkers. He spent over an hour doing various exercises and stretching in relative peace and quiet.

 

His mind cleared and the anger slowly melted away as he lost himself in the repetition of what he was doing.

 

Unfortunately, when he briefly left the room to get some free weights he noticed that Jack Napier and Victor Zsasz were in the main room. It was even more unfortunate that Napier immediately noticed him. The tension returned almost instantaneously and Damian set the weights down before standing up to wait.

 

A blanket of quiet rage slowly swept over him but he kept it in check, narrowing his eyes. Napier was the only person on the compound who wasn’t afraid to touch him.

 

He knew better than anyone what the senior agent was capable of but that didn’t deter him at all. In fact, he seemed to want Damian to react to him. Napier did everything in his power to get him to lash out. No one seemed to understand it, even dimwitted Zsasz didn’t seem to entirely grasp the reasoning most times, but Damian had figured it out instantly.

 

Napier wanted him on the Fourth and he was upset that he’d been released. Their interactions went back a long way but it had only been after the introduction of the box that Napier had taken it to the next level. While Damian was kept drugged, Napier was able to do whatever he wanted. He’d never actually gone as far as he could have but Damian had enough muddled memories of large hands groping at him as a hot wet mouth slobbered on his mouth and neck with muttered _‘Brucie’_  to figure out that Napier had a sexual fixation with _his Father_.

 

The cause was baffling but after a background check into the man’s file, Damian hadn’t been surprised to see that in Napier’s civilian years he’d been a registered sex offender with a long history of stalking, and displayed psychopathic tendencies even though he was only in his late twenties. The fact that the man had started working at the League in the early days of his Father only further enhanced that fact. Bruce Wayne must have done something that caught Napier’s attention and with him gone, Damian was the only option that the sick bastard could sink his claws in.

 

The League had taken him for his military background and sociopathic tendencies but even they had shied away from a field agent path once they realized that the man couldn’t reign in his sexual impulses.

 

“We just keep running into each other, little robin,” Napier drawled as he entered the room with Zsarz close behind.

 

“Imagine that, considering we both live in the compound,” Damian said flatly, maintaining his position even as Napier kept walking closer.

 

“Oh, is that all it is?” Napier stopped only when he was less than a hand span away from Damian, well into his personal space. Light gray eyes flicked over Damian’s sweaty form, focusing on the crotch of his sweatpants before sweeping back up to his damp neck and pursed lips. “I thought maybe you were doing it on purpose to your Uncle Jay.”

 

Damian smirked humorlessly, revulsion twisting with the hatred he felt for the man. “You _wish_.”

 

Napier just raised his eyebrows slightly and didn’t bother denying it. He looked over his shoulder at Zsasz. “Why don’t you give us a minute?”

 

Zsasz blinked in surprise. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jac –”

 

“I said get the fuck out,” was the snarled response. Napier’s lips curled back in a sneer and the look he shot his friend was full of venom. Judging by the way Zsasz quickly departed, it would seem that Napier’s abusive personality came into play in his friendships too.

 

Damian uncrossed his arms and curled his fingers into loose fists. He cast a quick look around the room and noted that there was indeed a small camera mounted in the ceiling although it was nearly disguised by the light fixture.

 

“You just keep playing _hard to get_ now that you’re free, don’t you?” Napier asked, moving closer and forcing Damian to back up unless he wanted the other man pressed against him.

 

“Groping someone who is in a drugged stupor doesn’t count as compliance,” Damian replied blandly, not flinching when the other man pushed him against the wall. “I know that must be hard for a pedophile –”

 

“I’m not a fucking pedophile,” Napier snapped, cuffing Damian upside the head.

 

It took all of his willpower not to respond. Damian took a deep breath and exhaled slowly but his fingers were now balled into white-knuckled fists as his eyes burned into Napier. “Is fourteen the age of consent in your fantasy world? That was the age of the boy you attacked before the League recruited you, wasn’t it?”

 

A flash of anger glittered in Napier’s eyes and he grabbed the front of Damian’s shirt, bunching the fabric. “That’s a lot of talk from someone who kills civilians and _raped_ his shrink.”

 

Damian gritted his teeth but didn’t deign to respond. He didn’t know how the rumor about him having raped Catalina Flores had come about but he wasn’t going to respond to it. That was what Napier wanted– to get a reaction out of him.

 

Napier smirked when Damian didn’t answer and leaned forward again, raising a hand to slide down the side of Damian’s face as he leered. “Now when are you going to start playing nice, _Brucie_?” He rubbed his thumb against Damian’s  lower lip, trying to force the finger inside.

 

Damian responded instantly.

 

Without thinking, he wrapped his hand around Napier’s wrist and twisted it backward until the other man grunted in pain, stumbling back.

 

“Touch me again and I’ll kill you,” Damian said flatly as he wiped a hand across his mouth. “We aren’t on the Fourth floor anymore.”

 

The other man flexed his wrist, looking at Damian darkly. “Attack me again and you will be, boy. I’ll activate that collar and zap you so hard your eyes will be rolling for a week. When you wake up you’ll be back on the Fourth –” Napier stepped closer again and Damian tensed. “– drugged, helpless and fully at _my_ disposal.”

 

The words caused a rush of memories to crowd Damian’s  mind. The feel of a heavy body crushing him, an erection digging into his thigh– unable to move, unable to defend himself. The power Napier held over him at the moment was just as bad as what had happened then. The inability to react without even worse consequences made him freeze in place. He was just as helpless as he’d been in the box. Everything Napier said was true and Damian was damned either way.

 

Black rage rolled off of him and his lip curled, nostrils flaring as his breath began to come faster.

 

“Don’t like that do you?” Napier taunted, thick lips lifting in a filthy smile.

 

Napier leaned forward again, hand outstretched as the anger began to consume Damian completely. The image of Napier in front of him began to shift and flicker as everything around them started to dim. His peripheral vision was nonexistent– his eyes only focused on the threat before him.

 

“Touch me and you _will_ be sorry.”

 

The threat seemed to excite Napier, who purred deep in his throat. But just as his hand wrapped around Damian’s arm, the door behind them opened. Timothy walked in, taking in the room with the same disaffected look as ever.

 

Damian didn’t take his eyes away from Napier’s as he panted harshly. His heart was pounding and his hands were starting to tremble as he forced them to stay down. But he could feel himself starting to lose the tenuous control he had over the violence that wanted to wreak havoc.

 

Timothy’s eyes shifted over Napier, moving down to his hand on Damian’s  arm and then flicking back up to Damian’s  face. He walked toward the two, turning an even stare onto Napier. “Am I interrupting anything?”

 

“Mind your fucking business, boy,” Napier snapped, not even looking at Timothy.

 

“This is my business.” Timothy stopped next to Napier, pointedly looking down at Napier’s hand on Damian’s arm. The young agent was the picture of nonchalance, with his hands loose at his sides and expression impassive, but there was definite strength underlying his tone when he continued. “I suggest you take your hands _off_ my partner.”

 

Zsasz came hurrying through the door, his expression a mixture of irritation and fear as he shot Napier a look. “Sorry man, I walked away for one minute –”

 

“Shut the fuck up,” Napier snarled, casting his friend a dark glare.

 

Damian wrenched his arm away but Napier responded by grabbing the front of his t-shirt. He yanked Damian against him, ripping the collar in the process. Their faces were only inches apart although the shadows were shading his eyes. All that could be seen of his face was the vicious sneer that twisted his features.

 

Timothy’s hand suddenly snapped out, wrenching Napier’s wrist away from Damian’s shirt. Napier jerked his hand back with a swear and Zsasz slammed Timothy back against the wall. Zsasz reared back his fist just as Damian snapped out of his hate-filled daze.

 

Before Zsasz could strike Timothy, Damian’s  hand shot out and wrapped his hand around the guard’s neck.

 

Another guard entered the room before anything more could happen. Damian’s eyes flicked over to him quickly and he realized that it was Wally West.

 

“What the hell is going on?” West demanded, staring at the scene incredulously.

 

Napier snorted in disgust and flexed his hand. “Nothing. Piss off.”

 

Damian released Zsasz although he noted that his fingers had already made red marks on the man’s throat.

 

“Officer Napier was harassing Damian,” Timothy spoke up, moving around Zsasz. “He was using Officer Zsasz to watch the door so no one would enter and obviously planned to escalate the situation. I attempted to intervene and you see the result.”

 

Damian looked at Timothy with surprise and adjusted his shirt. Adrenaline was still pumping through his veins but the desire to eviscerate both men was slowly fading. “Drake –”

 

“Shut your mouth and mind your business,” Napier interrupted, narrowing his eyes at Timothy hatefully. “It’s between me and Wayne.”

 

The look on the guard’s face gave Damian pause. There was genuine animosity there for Timothy and that did not bode well for the future. Shaking off the last vestiges of the episode that hadn’t actually come, Damian kept his eyes focused on Napier. He wouldn’t put it past the man to try to attack Timothy now– his temper was that bad when he didn’t get his way. But at the same time, he usually didn’t strike out with an entire audience.

 

“It isn’t between you two,” Timothy replied flatly. For the first time since he’d entered the room, his expression shifted from bland and emotionless; his eyes narrowed and he turned a cold, hard stare on Napier. If he noticed Napier’s obvious ire, it didn’t seem to bother him.

 

“You’re clearly a deranged man taking advantage of the situation. Damian may feel unable to properly respond but I don’t. I’ll file a formal report on you if that’s what it takes.”

 

A vague feeling of unease shot through Damian and he shifted where he stood. “Let’s go.”

 

West ignored him and looked between Zsasz and Napier with a scowl. There was obvious dislike imprinted on his expression as he nodded. “It may be a good idea for you to report this.”

 

Zsasz shot him an incredulous look. “You’re taking their side over us?”

 

Napier just sneered, not looking surprised in the least.

 

“It’s an incident that clearly needs to be put on the record. You were on camera the whole time anyway. It may be best if everyone has their side of the story documented,” West replied diplomatically despite the way his eyes betrayed his clear disgust. “Besides, others in the training facility were aware that something was going on. A maintenance worker grabbed me while I was passing to inform me that something was happening.”

 

Damian just shook his head, impatient to leave. He had no interest in filing reports or documenting anything. “I’m out of here.”

 

Timothy remained focused on West. “How do we file official reports through the guards’ database? Do I report what I’ve witnessed to you or should I write a report and send it in?”

 

Napier scoffed with disgust and turned around to walk out but not before giving Timothy another dark glare. He brushed by West rudely with Zsasz following behind him.

 

Ignoring them, West nodded. “Go to the third floor– that’s where the guard command center is. All incidents that occur on the compound are reported there before being distributed to the proper chain of command for the individuals involved. Since it involved Napier and Zsasz, I’ll make sure my captain gets it.”

 

Timothy nodded. “I’ll do that. Thank you.”

 

West looked at Damian and opened his mouth to speak but before any words could come out, Damian walked out of the room. He almost kept going until he was clear of the training area but he made himself stop. As much as he wished that Timothy would have left it alone instead of pressing the issue, he couldn’t deny that he felt oddly... pleased that the younger man had been so vehement about defending him.

 

Frowning, Damian looked over his shoulder and saw that West was exiting the room with Timothy right behind him. The guard stopped and stared at him for a moment.

 

“Not terrified of me anymore?” Damian asked with a raised eyebrow, flicking his gaze over the man.

 

West frowned at him. “So you were awake that day...” (1)

 

“What does it matter?”

 

“I guess it doesn’t.” Still frowning, West shook his head and looked at Timothy. “Let me know if you have any issues filing the report. You can find my number in the directory. Take care.”

 

Damian ignored the thoughtful stare the guard pinned him with and waited until West walked away to speak. “Why did you do that?”

 

Timothy’s gaze idly ran across the room before he met Damian’s eyes. “You seemed like you were about to hurt him and I wanted to intervene before you could get in trouble for something that isn’t your fault. I also wanted him to know that not everyone will ignore such blatant harassment. By reporting it, maybe he’ll see some consequences for his behavior.”

 

The comment was met with silence as Damian stared down at his partner for a long moment. Several things about Timothy’s answer stood out to him as unexpected and it threw him off guard momentarily. However, there were too many eyes on him and he still felt the burning desire to bash someone’s face in. “Let’s get out of here.”

 

Timothy’s gaze was thoughtful on Damian before he nodded and followed him out of the training room. Most people avoided looking directly at Damian when he came close to them but as soon as his back was to the rest of the room, there was the instant heat of stares on his back. A few mutters echoed around the room and Damian thought they undoubtedly believed he’d once again caused some issue. He couldn’t help wondering what people would think if they knew the truth.

 

They continued walking until they were through the lobby and outside of the Tower, well out of earshot of anyone who would be brave enough to eavesdrop. They ended up stopping to the side of the courtyard, with trees nearby and most of the others on compound far away. Only then did he glance down at Timothy’s serious face.

 

“You unnecessarily brought yourself to the attention of someone you would have been smarter to avoid.”

 

Timothy shrugged, looking entirely unconcerned. “It doesn’t matter. I wouldn’t have stayed quiet walking into that regardless.”

 

Damian scowled at him and moved to cross his arms but thought better of it as the wound in his arm twinged with the halted motion. “You’re either being cocky or stupid. Napier is the pack leader of a lot of guards who run this place. The ones that hate me and field agents in general, not guards like doe-eyed West back there. It would be wise to not get on their bad side just because of me.”

 

Timothy looked over and his eyes narrowed. There was a flash of something in his eyes that Damian was unaccustomed to seeing in Timothy; a firm, hard edge that was as close to anger or a warning as Damian had so far seen. “So I should allow a terrible person to hurt others in front of me simply because it could be inconvenient for me to say anything? Do you think they wouldn’t hate me anyway? I’m already disliked because of my mother and my position. You’re my partner and I’m going to help you. Even if it wasn’t part of my job, I would not let that go.”

 

Damian opened his mouth to reply but halted abruptly. Frustratingly enough, he found that he didn't know what to say in response. There was something intriguing about the way Timothy’s eyes were flashing at the moment; about the way his quiet voice had an undercurrent of vehemence on Damian’s behalf. It was so unexpected and bizarre that he could only shake his head as he tried to form proper words. The only ones who had ever bothered doing so to him were Richard and Jason. And they were family. Timothy wasn’t… It was…

 

“You defended me, that was enough. And I...” he trailed off for a moment, looking away before shrugging, aiming for a casual gesture. “I appreciate it. No one ever has before beside Grayson and Todd. But taking it further isn't necessary. I would not like... to see you once again get hurt because you were trying to help me.”

 

Timothy’s lips were parted as if he planned to continue arguing, but Damian’s words made him pause and search what he could see of Damian’s face. After a moment he shook his head and his eyebrows drew together. When he met Damian’s eyes, he looked quietly determined.

 

“It’ll be alright; that doesn’t concern me. What concerns me is you have such low expectations that even someone speaking up on your behalf is enough for you, and Napier seems too arrogant to stop until he’s challenged. I’m not going to stop halfway on this. If something happens to me on a mission, I’d prefer to have your treatment on official record first. Your next partner may be unwilling to help.”

 

At that, Damian glared. “Will you shut up about next partners? I decide to go along with this shit and you’re still all ready to drop dead at any moment.”

 

“I’m being realistic,” Timothy replied simply. “I’m more likely to die before you do. It has nothing to do with you being a good partner. I’m simply thinking ahead.”

 

“You’re an imbecile.”

 

Timothy’s eyebrow quirked up at that but he didn’t seem angry. He simply scrutinized Damian before responding. “What are you worried about anyway? Is there something I should know about Napier?”

 

Damian rocked back on his heels for a moment before answering, debating how far into it that he wanted to go. It would have been smarter to end the conversation before he gave Timothy further ammunition for filing a report.

 

For some reason, however, he didn’t.

 

“Napier has an obsession with…” Damian’s lips thinned. “… with my Father. Furthermore, he’s a predator and he views me as an ideal victim. The fact that I’m generally hated suits him because no one is likely to believe me if I tell anyone, but he doesn’t actually care about what I’ve allegedly done. When he’s denied what he wants, he gets worse and he will lash out. It doesn’t help that his buddies tend to man the surveillance station.”

 

Timothy’s eyes narrowed. “I see. As a predator, does that mean he’s attacked or harassed others in the past? Or has it mostly been you due to your circumstances?”

 

“I know he had a record of it before he was recruited here.”

 

Timothy seemed to consider that. “How long has he been here?”

 

Damian shrugged again, looking away from Timothy finally. “He was recruited around the time my… Father was recruited. He failed to become a field agent while my Father made it. He has been around more than twenty years now.”

 

Timothy’s lips twitched down on the edges. “Does everyone know what he’s like? Officer West didn’t seem surprised by the situation.”

 

A low scoff escaped Damian’s mouth and he shook his head. “All of the guards on the Fourth who are in the maximum security wing know what he’s like. I don’t know what it is to West. Maybe he’s a bit more squeamish than the others.”

 

Timothy shook his head. “Why would you not want me to file a report? He obviously has no intentions of stopping and is unlikely to with that history. Everyone knows and looks the other way. The ignorance and discrimination in that alone are astounding. Doesn’t it bother you at all?”

 

Another shrug and this time Damian couldn’t help wanting to turn away from the topic.

 

He wasn’t interested in being seen as the victim of some unfortunate circumstance.

 

Jack Napier was a nuisance and a danger to him only because he couldn’t defend himself without making the situation worse. It would be something he’d have to deal with or learn how to in order to avoid the box.

 

“I’m used to it. It doesn’t make a difference to me anymore. People will do what they want because of what they believe about me.”

 

There was a beat of silence and then Timothy frowned. He crossed his arms, somehow seeming stubborn in the act. His tone was matter-of-fact when he spoke. “Well, I don’t accept your status quo. He already dislikes me so not filing the report wouldn’t help. And regardless of that, I disagree with your treatment. I won’t stand by and do nothing when it’s within my power to at least put down in words what everyone else would like to conveniently ignore.”

 

There was obviously no point in arguing the topic so Damian just shook his head.

 

Timothy seemed determined to go through with his plan and he wasn’t going to keep fighting him on it. Besides he couldn’t deny that there was something interesting about this stubbornness. It was a change from the way Timothy usually acted.

 

Switching topics entirely Damian asked, “Why were you there, anyway? I’d never seen you there before.”

 

A gust of wind burst past them, whipping Timothy’s hair into his face. His eyes narrowed and he tilted his face against the wind. The leaves rustled on the trees around them, while most of the other people in the courtyard gave the two of them a wide berth.

 

“You told me it was a good place to train.”

 

Damian looked at him with surprise and recalled the brief discussion a couple of weeks ago. He hadn’t expected Timothy to actually listen. At the time, he’d only said it to distract himself from the odd thoughts that had started shifting in his mind. Thoughts such as a random desire to cause Timothy’s fleeting smile to reappear and curiosity about why Timothy went to Brown’s house when he had seemed so reclusive before.

 

Timothy’s eyebrows twitched down at Damian’s expression. “Is it so strange that I went there?”

 

“No. I just –” Damian stopped, scowling because he couldn’t figure out what to say.

 

After a moment of hesitation, he finished, “That is, I didn’t think you would actually go. I took you for a loner.”

 

“Oh.” Timothy studied Damian, his eyebrows drawing down further. After a brief pause, he spoke again. “There are times I don’t mind being around others. Since you recommended it, I went.”

 

Not knowing what to say to that, Damian looked down at his torn shirt for inspiration and realized that it was worse than he’d thought. The entire collar was destroyed and the shirt was ripped haphazardly to the left. There was a beat of silence between them.

 

Timothy’s gaze ran down Damian’s front. “If you need to leave to change...”

 

“It’s not like I have much to change into, anyway.”

 

“Why not?”

 

“Because the clothes I have are the clothes I’ve had for over a decade. I don’t get out much to do more shopping,” was the bland reply.

 

Timothy watched Damian thoughtfully. “Are you still not allowed to leave on your own?”

 

Damian shook his head, casting his eyes in the general direction of the gates. “Not without an escort. I am not to be trusted in the city on my own.”

 

“Hmm.” There was a brief pause. “Would you like to go now?”

 

His eyes snapped back to Timothy and this time he didn’t bother trying to hide the surprise on his face. “With you?”

 

“Yes.”

 

There was another extended pause and Damian said finally, “You’re really not afraid of me, are you?”

 

“No, I’m not.” Timothy’s gaze was unwavering as he met Damian’s eyes.

 

There was something ironic about that, considering Timothy had almost been killed by him not even a few weeks ago. They looked at each other for a moment longer before turning to walk towards the gates of the compound.

 

“Do you drive?”

 

Timothy nodded and gestured to the large parking lot by the residential buildings, not too far from the entrance to the compound. “Usually. My car’s in the main lot. “

 

With a somewhat skeptical hesitation, Damian followed Timothy. He stole discreet looks at the younger man as they walked, trying to determine why this invitation had suddenly come about.

 

Yes, they’d had more frequent conversations lately, including topics other than missions or the League, but this was still unexpected. If Brown’s words were anything to go by, Timothy had apparently spent time with her outside of briefings. But Brown appeared to be a sociable and outgoing person in general. Her trying to get to know Timothy made sense. Seeing Timothy outside of the League was not something Damian had ever thought about.

 

Frowning, Damian slid his hands into his pockets. Not knowing where he stood with another person wasn’t something he was used to. Most of his interaction with people on the League was either one way or the other; they ignored him or went out of their way to ostracize him. Not even Kent had offered to escort him off the compound before.

 

Another thing that bothered Damian was that he couldn’t decide whether this behavior was genuine or just a way to keep their partnership going smoothly. He had reached a point where it was now pointless to deny that Timothy intrigued him. Everything from his unexpected behavior to the surprising pleasantness of his face being brightened by a smile. Damian couldn’t remember the last time anyone had graced him with that expression and it had struck him at the time. But that still didn’t give him any more insight into whether this was all an act or not.

 

Suspicious and quiet, he followed Timothy to his car. It was black and sophisticated looking but Damian didn’t pay any attention other than that. They got in and briefly stopped at the gates while Timothy showed his identification and cleared their trip with the guards.

 

It was easier than Damian had thought and he could only assume that Timothy was already on the list of the few people he was allowed to leave with.

 

As they left the League behind, it was quiet in the car at first. There was no music playing and the engine was smooth. They didn’t get far away before Damian saw Timothy’s face tilt in his direction, and his eyes flick along Damian’s length. “Do you have any preferences for the price range?”

 

Damian made a face, having forgotten about that necessity. “Somewhere cheap. I’m kept on a cash allowance. I don’t have access to my account.”

 

“That seems strange,” Timothy said, looking at him sidelong. “Why not?”

 

“Because they control every aspect of my life,” was the matter of fact reply. Damian shrugged, letting his eyes slide out the window as they drove through All Saints, the neighborhood that the League was in. The majority of it was trees with Silver Lake Park not too far away but as they went further south, neighborhoods began cropping into view.

 

For a moment it seemed Timothy was going to say something else. His lips had parted and he studied Damian’s profile a moment, but then he looked away. “I know of some affordable places. If you have no objections, I’d planned to bring you to a thrift store anyway.”

 

Damian shrugged. “I don’t care how I look. Wherever is fine.”

 

Timothy nodded and continued driving, leading them southwest toward Blüdhaven neighborhood. Damian didn’t pay much attention to where they were headed, although he did note as the scenery passed by that Timothy was taking a few of the lesser used residential back roads. They backtracked to the North to get to a through street and then came back down. They hooked up with Dauphin Street in far western Blüdhaven, just before the area started to transition to the upper-class Financial District.

 

It wasn’t until Timothy parked the car that Damian realized the quickest route by far from the League would have been to drive all the way down Dauphin Street. Timothy had gone out of the way to avoid it and had probably taken twice as long to get to the destination.

 

The information clicked with Timothy’s behavior on their first mission together. Damian glanced over at his partner, wondering just what had happened with the younger man in that area.

 

“Why are you going out of your way for me, anyway?” he asked, not voicing the questions going through his mind.

 

“Because I want to,” Timothy said simply and honestly. He pulled the keys out of the ignition and looked over at Damian. “I don’t have a very good answer aside from that. Except...”

 

He paused, his eyebrows drawing down. He searched Damian’s face thoughtfully, as if he could find the answers he was looking for there. “It bothers me to think that you have no one to rely on, those that you trust are not by your side and that most of your alienation appears to be due to others’ issues more than your own. I’m not in the habit of acting before I think, and I’ve taken the time to consider you. I’ve yet to find a reason why I shouldn’t help you. So when something occurs that makes me want to help, I do.”

 

Eyebrows rising, Damian tilted his head to the side, trying to ignore the uncomfortable clench in his chest at the thought of Richard and Jason. It seemed like years ago since he last saw them. “You really don’t seem like the charitable type. You seem like the mind your own business and try not to give a fuck or get involved type.”

 

Timothy’s lips tilted up humorlessly on the edges. “Normally I am. It seems to be different with you.”

 

Not entirely knowing how to respond to that, Damian looked away and opened the door. It would have been easy to press further and demand why, to try to figure out if the words were true or just carefully crafted lines. But for some reason, he didn’t want to.

 

Timothy got out of the car and turned his attention to Damian over the top of the car. He tilted his head in the other direction to indicate where they were going and slid his hands into his pockets. He waited to speak until they were walking side by side.

 

“There are a lot of second-hand stores in the city but I think Aspen’s Closet is best as far as the price and quality. How much money do you have?”

 

“I don’t know,” Damian replied with a shrug. “A couple hundred. They don’t give me very much.”

 

“That should be more than enough here.” Timothy looked over with a frown. “Unless that’s what they provide you for a long time. What if you were to use it all here? Do you get more this week?”

 

“No. It doesn’t matter, I don’t buy anything anyway except shit from the vending machine.”

 

Timothy shook his head. “It seems insulting to have your own money withheld.”

 

Damian scoffed and started walking towards the store. There were a couple of people in front that gave his torn shirt dubious looks before averting their gaze. “It’s pretty tame compared to locking me in a box.”

 

“Yes, but the fact that it occurs to them to limit your freedom on small details as well as large is what adds to the insult. Why should it matter to them if you were to have access to all the money you’ve earned? It isn’t as though you could buy your freedom.”

 

Timothy reached out and caught the door before it could fall shut behind a woman who was leaving. He went into the store and Damian followed, sliding his hands into his pockets.

 

The truth was, Damian hadn’t even thought much about his allowance when it’d been implemented. In the past, he hadn’t been given any of his money at all. He’d been told that it was sent to his bank account where it would remain for safe keeping until he was deemed capable of handling it on his own. Now he had the fleeting wonder if it had been a lie. If they’d never actually paid him all of these years.

 

With a frown, Damian shook his head absently. Whatever the case was, he’d find out eventually.

 

Timothy turned to the right and glanced at Damian as they walked. “The majority of the men’s clothing is toward the back but there’s an area you should check first.”

 

He led Damian to what looked like a small alcove that was all but hidden on the side.

 

It seemed like an area that was off limit to the public but Timothy walked in as if it were normal to do so. A short hallway opened up that they walked down. At the end around the corner was another room. Several racks of clothing and shelves of shoes filled the room. Timothy stood to the side, gesturing to the racks in the back that seemed to have men’s clothing.

 

“These are the new arrivals. It’s best to check here before the good items disappear too quickly on the main floor. The shoes are especially good to peruse here first.”

 

Damian arched an eyebrow at Timothy. “Come here a lot? You don’t seem very hard up for cash.”

 

Timothy’s eyes tracked across the room, a distant look crossing his face briefly before he shrugged. “My mother’s wealthy but until this position I wasn’t necessarily. I’ve never had to worry about having a home but as for money for food or supplies, it varied. I became accustomed to minimal spending when possible.” He seemed lost in thought. “And my...”

 

He trailed off, eyes narrowing. He shook his head to himself and crossed his arms. “I knew others who didn’t have much money so we came here sometimes. I bought my trench coat and boots here, so they do have some quality items.”

 

Giving another shrug, Damian swept his gaze over the racks but found that he kept getting distracted by the other people. He couldn’t help absently wondering if any of these civilians would recognize him from the incident all of those years ago– were his unique features ingrained in anyone’s mind as the Blüdhaven Psycho?

 

It made him antsier than he thought it would. He hadn’t been in the city for so long that the familiar anxiety that swept through him at the idea was surprising. It was also stupid. He knew the League would smooth over any scrapes or recognition should anyone try to make a big thing of it. He also knew that technically his name had been cleared, even of the slaying of the civilians and police. It was something else that bothered him, though; the possibility of running into someone who’d actually been there...

 

“I just need a new t-shirt, really,” he said flatly.

 

Timothy’s eyebrows rose skeptically. “How much clothing do you have?”

 

Damian mentally cataloged the things he had. It didn’t take very long. A handful of t-shirts, a couple of pants and one pair of boots. He didn’t own a proper coat of any kind that would be suitable for cold weather. Not to mention that all of the articles he had were incredibly worse for the wear and old.

 

“Enough,” he answered vaguely.

 

“What constitutes ‘enough’ for you?” Timothy asked dubiously. “I’ve hardly seen you in anything aside from that.”

 

Damian opened his mouth to retort but frowned, finding that he didn’t have one. “I have... a few items.”

 

“A few,” Timothy repeated, looking at Damian askance. “What? A pair of pants and possibly two shirts?”

 

“I have two pairs of pants, for your information.”

 

“My mistake,” Timothy said mildly, his lips pulling to the side faintly. He ran his gaze along Damian, taking in his threadbare clothes. “And exactly how long have you had this clothing?”

 

Feeling decidedly unimpressive as a result of the conversation, Damian turned away and shoved some clothes around unceremoniously on the rack. “Some years. What difference does it make? They’re clean and covering the essential body parts, aren’t they?”

 

Timothy walked over next to Damian, absently pushing a shirt aside to glance at it.

 

When he looked over at Damian, the subtle tilt of his lips and the cast of his eyes betrayed mild amusement. “Yes, but you’ve nearly worn the clothing through. It gives the impression that you’ve worn the same thing almost every day for decades.” He paused, the humor largely fading to be replaced by the earnest study of Damian’s features that Damian was becoming accustomed to with Timothy. “Anyway, I think we should remedy that today. If your summer clothing is this threadbare I don’t have high hopes for your winter choices.”

 

Making a face, something occurred to Damian. “I probably could have sent my service slave out to do all this.”

 

“Who?”

 

With a dismissive shrug, Damian made a more conscious effort to look at the stuff on the rack. “Some damn fool service staff man who was assigned to deal with me. He hates me almost as much as I loathe the sight of him.”

 

There was a black bomber coat that would suit his purposes during the winter time. The inner lining was worn but not nearly as worn as the things he had now. Mildly surprised that he’d actually found something that caught his eye, he picked up the hanger.

 

“With how infrequently you buy new clothing, would you really want someone like that making those decisions?” Timothy asked idly as he turned to a nearby rack. He pushed some clothes apart, the hangers making quiet scratching noise with the slide of metal on metal.

 

“Considering how people cringe at the sight of me, it doesn’t really matter what I wear or look like but I suppose you have a point.”

 

Damian looked down at the coat and then at the other racks. He didn’t even know what else he should have. Surviving for years on the bare minimum made it difficult to figure out what was supposed to be a necessity.

 

“Hmm.” Timothy pushed a plain black long-sleeved thermal shirt back so he could see it fully. He held the bottom out, his eyelashes sheltering his eyes briefly as he studied it. His gaze shifted over to Damian in assessment. Without saying anything, he pulled the shirt off the rack and held it out to Damian who stared at it.

 

“Are you going to dress me like you?”

 

Timothy looked over, seeming startled. “What? No. I doubt you have warm clothing for winter and this is in good condition. You don’t have to get it if you don’t want; I just thought you may want to try it on.”

 

Damian smirked and tossed the shirt over his shoulder. “I’m just messing with you, beloved. No need to get all explanatory.”

 

Timothy’s near-perplexed gaze lingered on Damian. “Why do you call me that?”

 

The smirk widened and Damian reached out, cupping Timothy’s face and moving his chin from side to side without really thinking about it. But then the feel of Timothy’s soft skin against his callused fingers startled him and the sarcastic comment he’d been about to make got lost somewhere.

 

Damian’s eyebrows drew together and he dropped his hand, staring at Timothy blankly.

 

He’d been about to say ‘because you’re so innocent and cute like a mail- ordered bride’ but somehow that seemed like a bad idea at the moment when he randomly realized that Timothy actually was quite attractive.

 

“Because you’re... young.”

 

Timothy’s eyebrows drew down and he gave Damian an odd look. His hand moved up to his chin, seemingly absently brushing where Damian had touched him, and then he turned away. He pushed some clothes aside on the rack. “Some of the trainees said the same thing.”

 

“That you’re young?” Damian stripped off his t-shirt and tossed it aside.

 

Timothy nodded, looking sidelong at Damian and then turning his face away again.

 

“They seemed surprised. I suppose it’s because I went straight to a high rank without a pertinent background. Even so, you were recruited much younger than I was, and are still younger than me even now… so am I really such a precedent?”

 

Damian pulled the thermal shirt over his head and shrugged his shoulders to loosen it up. “It’s because you’re off the street and don’t have any experience in anything. It makes it seem like it’s nepotism. In reality, it’s just because mother dearest knew two rejects of society might get along, I think.”

 

A strange look seemed to pass Timothy’s face at that but his head was tilted at an angle where his expression was mostly sheltered by his hair. He pushed aside a worn t-shirt with a logo of an old soda company. “You may be giving her too much credit.”

 

“Probably.” Damian looked down at the shirt again before yanking it off. There were two other customers in the area and they gave him long looks as he switched back into his ragged t-shirt. “I really hate civilians.”

 

“Most people use a dressing room,” Timothy said mildly.

 

“I’m not shy.” Damian threw the thermal over his shoulder and walked back out toward the main store. He thought he heard Timothy mumble, “I noticed,” but he couldn’t be sure as he left the room.

 

The main space was larger and more spread out. It looked large and overwhelming and it belatedly occurred to Damian that he didn’t really want to be there.

 

Somewhere along the line, he’d just agreed because he wanted to be around Timothy. It was a startling realization; almost as startling as the realization that he found the older male attractive. He’d never given much thought to who looked good and who didn’t before but for some reason, his mind was working differently around Timothy. Damian had no idea if this was a normal part of being around someone consistently. He didn’t really have any other human interaction to use as comparison beside Richard and Jason. However, considering the fact that they were his brothers, it didn’t seem fit to use them as a comparison ruler.

 

Scowling at the thought, Damian walked over to a rack full of denim just because he’d always wanted a pair of jeans. He tried to focus on the task at hand but all of them looked the same to him so he carelessly pulled one off that was his size and didn’t bother to search too hard between styles.

 

It wasn’t long until Timothy reappeared at his side with several articles of clothing slung over his arm. He held up a pair of black and red sneakers with his free hand. “Do you like these?”

 

“I have shoes.”

 

“One pair, right?” Timothy asked, unperturbed.

 

Damian glanced down at his worn boots. “Do I need more?”

 

“Yes. If those get worn out, what will you use to replace them?”

 

Making a face, Damian took the shoes and looked at them dubiously. He supposed they’d be an improvement for working out. “Fine.”

 

Timothy smiled slightly, seeming pleased. “I found some pants and a t-shirt. And I’m not positive you’ll like this sweater but it seems warm.”

 

Damian briefly glanced at the items Timothy was holding. “Looks good. Can we leave?”

 

“Does it bother you to be here?”

 

A brief hesitation, and then Damian shrugged, eyes flitting around. No one was really paying them any mind now that he wasn’t stripping but he still felt uneasy. Like someone would remember his face or would just pick up on the fact that he didn’t belong there.

 

“I don’t feel comfortable around... civilians in Blüdhaven.”

 

Timothy watched Damian, a faint frown in his eyes and lips that only increased when he looked around the room. He was silent a moment, absently holding the clothes closer to his chest, most likely to relieve the heaviness of them at the other angle. “Well,” he began but then closed his mouth and paused. “I don’t think anyone is paying any attention to you at the moment. Maybe we could stay a little longer? If it isn’t a problem.”

 

Looking around again, Damian considered it. It was true that no one was giving him strange looks; the discomfort was likely his own paranoia. The only people looking at them at the moment were a group of teenage girls. Now that he was paying attention, Damian faintly heard them commenting on both of their looks. According to the girls, he had amazing eyes and Timothy had beautiful hair.

 

Smirking, Damian relaxed somewhat. “I suppose staying won’t be too bad. This area isn’t as cramped. And those girls would like to know what conditioner you use, I think.”

 

Timothy shook his head to himself, although there was a hint of a smile on his lips.

 

“I’ll never tell.”

 

“Maybe you should. You may even get a date out of it.”

 

With a quiet scoff, Timothy turned to the nearest rack. He used his free hand to absently push aside a pair of jeans that looked twenty years old. “I hardly think that will happen.”

 

Damian raised an eyebrow. “So little faith in yourself?”

 

Timothy gave Damian a sidelong look, his eyes narrowing faintly and lips pursing subtly.

 

After a moment he returned his attention to the clothing. “No. I’m uninterested in them.”

 

The comment caused Damian to give the girls another assessing look. By now they seemed aware of the attention they were getting and to his irritation, one of them smiled at him encouragingly. His eyes narrowed into a glare and the girl, a petite red haired little thing, instantly dropped her bold gaze.

 

“Well. I can’t say they exactly strike my fancy either. But then again, I’m not looking to add pedophilia to my list of crimes.”

 

Timothy shook his head to himself but didn’t comment further on the girls. He continued flipping through the clothing, at times moving aside three or more pants at once. The rest of their little shopping expedition went uneventfully. Timothy took the liberty of grabbing a couple of other items that he deemed to be essentials and Damian went to stand in the abysmally long line.

 

To Damian’s dismay, the group of girls managed to stand right behind him. They stared openly and murmured to each other. One of them wondered if the two of them were gay. The question surprised Damian so much that he turned around completely and leveled them with a steady glare. They instantly shut up, obviously thinking they’d gone too far, and didn’t talk again.

 

Irritated, Damian shook his head and turned away. He glanced at Timothy but his partner had wandered off at some point and was out of ear shot.

 

The comment hadn’t particularly offended him. When he thought about it, he supposed long-haired Timothy with his androgynous face and lithe build was likely assumed to be gay based on appearance alone; pair that with the two of them shopping together while Timothy nagged him about things he needed and it could be a possibility.

 

What surprised him most was that his automatic response hadn’t been to think that he wasn’t gay at all. He hadn’t thought anything other than that they needed to shut the fuck up already and quit talking about them. That being said, Damian was pretty sure he wasn’t gay himself. Napier’s fondling hadn’t exactly gotten him excited but neither had Flores’.

 

But then again, the idea of intimacy in any way was so far removed from the reality of his life that he couldn’t picture himself having sex with anyone at all. It wasn’t even something he’d ever bothered to think about. He’d had no reason to. The only people he’d regularly been in contact with since childhood were the people of the compound and they all thought he was subhuman.

 

The only person who had ever overtly expressed attraction to him had been Trent, and that had likely been more of an attempt at expressing control over a situation than anything else and to irritate Richard. And while Damian found himself capable of noting whether or not a person was attractive, it never went very far beyond that.

 

Irritation turning to idle curiosity, Damian moved up in line and looked over to where Timothy was standing. He took the time to study the teenager’s face closely. He had good features– a wide mouth with full lips, icy blue eyes, and what would likely be a nice, lean build if he ever put weight on. Damian tried to figure out if he really was attracted to Timothy or just capable of noting that he was good-looking.

 

It was impossible to tell, so he gave up on the endeavor and instead focused on what Timothy was doing. He was picking through a stack of charcoal-colored thermal shirts. He was on a real keep-Damian-warm kick. He apparently thought that Damian was destined to die of frostbite because of the way he dressed.

 

The line moved up again and Timothy came back to stand beside him. The proximity made the idle curiosity return and Damian tried in vain to figure it out. The three girls behind him were too ridiculous to even count as possibilities for women and they were closer in age to him than any other female in the room. A quick inventory of the other male customers told him that Timothy was by far the most attractive, although that was more of a fact than anything else.

 

It was bordering on the pathetic side of sad that his abnormality extended this far.

 

He wondered what Timothy would think of the girls’ comments. There were certain people on the compound who joked about Timothy being gay much for the same reason that the girls had likely assumed it, but Damian had no idea if it was true. He couldn’t really imagine Timothy being sexual with anyone. He barely had an expression half the time.

 

The thought sparked interesting mental images in his head and Damian smirked, shaking his head and pushing it aside.

 

Timothy looked over, drawn out of reverie by Damian’s amusement. His eyebrows furrowed as he gave Damian an odd look. “What?”

 

“Nothing,” Damian said, declining to explain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _(1) Referred back to the Prologue_
> 
> **Next chapter:**
> 
> The feeling of Damian’s body so close against Tim was causing his thoughts to scatter. He couldn’t help noting Damian’s muscular shoulders. He knew what Damian’s chest looked like beneath his shirt, covered in beads of water that slowly traveled down his body.
> 
> With Damian so close, it was impossible not to think about that, and impossible not to notice how attractive his features were. Tim’s gaze started to drop to Damian’s full lips but he made himself look back up to Damian’s eyes before he could. Not that staring at those green eyes was much better. Uncertainty dominated the confusing emotions that were beginning to swirl inside of him.
> 
> “What do you want?” he pressed.
> 
> “You–” Damian broke off.


	13. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * c r i e s* I'm sorry I haven't managed to reply to some of your reviews yet ; w ; Later today, I promised. Some stuff happened this week and it had been a pretty stressful time for me. If it weren't for your support, I wouldn't have been able to bounce back from it. But no matter, enough about my problem, please do enjoy this chapter. I hope it'd make up for the lack of replies from me ; w ; Once again, I apologize, dear readers.

A few weeks went by without any news before Tim and Damian were assigned their next mission. Unlike the previous disastrous one, this one was relatively low-key and simple. They were to infiltrate a rumored new recruit of the Court, determined whether the intel was true or not as well as collecting data for Cassandra to analyze, checking the true scope of the threat this new Factor presented.

 

The group was located in Star City under the name Chinese Triad. It originated from a minor drug trafficking group and evolved into a bigger, semi-organized group. According to the information received, the group was now located in a relatively innocuous building on the outskirt of the city. The building and the area themselves had been abandoned years after the war, and thus, it offered the perfect cover.

 

For their part, Tim and Damian had set up their base of operation in another abandoned house, overlooking Chinese Triad. Damian didn’t seem to show much interest in this mission, most likely believing that it was yet another attempt at babying Tim. To make it up for Damian’s lack of effort, Tim had thrown himself into planning the mission the moment their door was closed.

 

He pulled out blueprints, maps and data from various sources that Stephanie and Kate had collected, flipping the lid of his laptop open before staring at it intensely. He planned the route, running it through stimulation and crossing out various ways that would end badly for their mission. Finally, after two hours of planning, Tim had finished the analysis. He turned around, pushing the laptop slightly to the left so that Damian could see the plan.

 

“There are four exits,” Tim began calmly, pointing to four places on the main floor blueprint, “but the data room is here.” This time, Tim gestured toward the basement, tapping a room on the far end near a set of stairs. “Although it would be best to enter the building via the nearest exit and go downstairs, that won’t be possible. The building is set up so the only way to access the basement is by special doors near these two exits.” Tim pursed his lips, continuing to study the map. “This exit, and this one. They have concentrated their highest security at both points.”

 

His eyes moved to Damian, who was looking uninterested by the information. A flicker of irritation made its way to his eyes but Tim forced it down. “Realistically speaking, it’d be impossible to infiltrate the base so we’ll have to enter undetected. Kate’s data has given us a fairly good idea of the timing each guard shift and rotation. We should be able to avoid it easily if we take it into account.”

 

Tim switched the tab to another map. On this one, he had drawn the route that he deemed the most logical, tracing the line between the long halls. “At 8:00, they switch guards at the Eastern entrance, and 8:10 on the North-Eastern entrance. Perhaps it’d be best if we enter separately; it will give us less chance of being detected. I also wasn’t able to determine which route is faster. You can take the North-Eastern and I will take the Eastern entrance. There are utility closets just 50 feet from the entrance. It should provide us with an adequate temporary hiding place if needed. The rotation will continue with a full sweep of the building until 8:25. These corridors seem to be the least convenient so they’ll most likely receive less attention. If we hide there until the sweep is past, we will be able to proceed back through the areas that have already been checked.”

 

Tim zoomed in on another part of the map. He didn’t turn around to see if Damian was paying attention or not. His eyes narrowed when he studied the routine. This was the best that he could come up with right now. “Access to the basement is through here and here. I’ll bring the decoder with me which should allow us to breach the security on the database room. We’ll have a ten minute time window before the next group of guards moves through so we’ll have to be quick. Egress will be back the way we came, behind the sweep. We’ll split up at this intersection and leave through the doors we originally entered. Once outside, we’ll have to avoid the scouts so I suggest leaving through this alley to the north and doubling back here. Provided there are no unforeseen difficulties, we should be done and leaving here by 9:00 at the latest.”

 

Tim finally turned around to face Damian only to discover that his supposed ‘partner’ was staring at the map with apparent disinterest. “Sounds thrilling,” Damian commented tonelessly, stretching on the floor, his eyes glued to the ceiling when he twisted his body in a rather complicated looking position.

 

Tim’s lips pressed together, crossing his arms over his chest. “Did you even listen to anything I said?” He asked, unable to stamp down the irritation this time.

 

Damian paused mid-stretch, staring up at Tim through his eyelashes. “Yes, I’ve heard the plan.”

 

“Good,” Tim said firmly, but he was still not happy with Damian’s attitude. “We’ll have to leave in a few hours. I’ll be getting ready. I suggest you do the same.”

 

This time, Damian shook his head, sitting up on the floor. “I’ll be sure to do that.” He said nonchalantly.

 

Tim raised an eyebrow at the words, turning away so he wouldn’t argue with Damian some more. Damian’s nonchalant attitude annoyed him. He thought they were passed that already. However, Tim tried to reason with himself, Damian’s attitude didn’t matter, as long as he was ready in time for their mission.

 

While Damian was leisurely doing things, Tim pulled his laptop over to go through the blueprints again, staring at them until he was certain that he had them memorized. He also made notes of several different routes to take in case his original plan didn’t work out.

 

The mission started out as planned, with the timing being perfect to the T. The intelligence that Kate had managed to collect was proven to be accurate and essential. Tim was able to slip in the building while the guards were distracted by the shift changes. The only minor difficulty he encountered was at the beginning, where he had had to duck in the utility closet to hide a Chinese Triad guard when they walked past.

 

Tim wondered if Damian was having as easy time as he was. And since he didn’t hear any commotion, it appeared that Damian had managed to go in undetected as well. As Tim moved deeper into the base, his thoughts couldn’t help but wander back to Damian and his attitude. Did he act like that because the mission was too easy? Or perhaps he underestimated Tim’s ability to plan again?

 

Once he reached the data room, Tim was surprised to find Damian already waiting there. It seemed like he had been standing there for quite some time. However, it couldn’t be, could it? Tim had moved in without being held back all that long, and Damian was supposed to move in 10 minutes later than Tim, so how could he arrive earlier than Tim himself?

 

Tim made sure that there was no one in the radius before he approached Damian. “That was fast,” he commented, “how did you get here before me?”

 

A shrug.

 

“Took a different route.”

 

Tim halted in the middle of pulling his decoder out. His eyes narrowed. “What? Why would you do that? According to the blueprint and the intel, that should have been the best route to take.”

 

“According to _you_ ,” Damian added smoothly, pushing himself away from the wall. “My route was faster and easier.”

 

Tim’s mild irritation since the start of the mission grew another notch, venturing toward the territory of anger. He couldn’t decipher whether he was angry because Damian came to the data room before him, or because he hadn’t stuck to the plan. He had spent so much time planning and even longer time to study the blueprints. His way should have been the best way. So how had Damian managed to beat him? Why did he have to constantly one up Tim on every single thing they did? It was so frustrating.

 

 Without looking at Damian, Tim set the decoder to work on the lock. “Yeah?” his voice rose, “and pray tell, exactly what route was it? Or did you just charge in without thinking as usual?” He asked.

 

For a moment, there was only silence. Damian stared at him with raised eyebrows before he said flatly. “I can’t figure it out whether it’s supposed to be funny or embarrassing that you actually think you have superior knowledge of how a mission is carried out.”

 

“There’s a reason we are a unit, Damian,” Tim said stiffly. “No one knows best which is why we must work together, including using the Intel we’ve received from other members. My plan was based on that Intel, if you had a problem with it, why didn’t you speak up before we started?”

 

“Apparently, you got it into your head that you’re the team leader and didn’t bother to ask me what my opinion about the ‘plan’ was. I guess since I apparently ‘charge in’ and I’ve been doing this job for a decade or so, the detail slips your mind.” Damian bit out, giving Tim a scathing look.

 

“What? The Great Damian Wayne didn’t dare to speak up to a noobie?” Tim couldn’t help but scoff. “Don’t blame this on me for not saying anything when you had the chance. You could have told me the plan was terrible after I pitched it to you. Nothing stopped you but your apathy.”

 

“You are such an _imbecile_ ,” Damian hissed. “If this is how you act when I don’t follow your ‘orders’, I’m going back to the van. Too bad you waited to shove that stick up your asshole or I’d have never bothered to cooperate at all.”

 

The decoder’s light turned from red to green, indicating that it had finished its job and Tim opened the door. His movements were jerky. “This has _nothing_ to do with whose plan it was. It’s about sticking to the plan itself. What’s the point of being your partner when I never know what I should expect from you? What your opinions on the matter are? I may as well go in alone like how I used to.”

 

“Nice job back-tracking,” Damian sneered. “Next time you have something to say, maybe you should have stayed silent and thought before you start insulting me. I should have known the whole ‘friendly routine’ was just a façade.”

 

Tim gritted his teeth, trying to stamp down the urge to cause a commotion while they were in enemy territory. He wanted to retort because his main aggravation was because Damian hadn’t followed the plan, no matter whose plan it was. However, it was also _true_ that he’d started out being annoyed with Damian when Damian came up with a better plan than his…

 

Still, if Damian had said anything in the first place, this wouldn’t have happened.

 

The fact that Damian was attacking the rest of their time together only served to anger him even further.

 

Frustrated, he turned his back to Damian, jabbing the flash drive in much harsher than he should. “Don’t start making assumptions about the past few weeks,” Tim tried.

 

“As far as I’m concerned, this conversation is over.”

 

Tim shook his head, lips thinning. He wanted to argue the point; to say that it wasn’t over just because Damian said it was. He couldn’t help but feel furious, insulted, and a mess of other emotions when Damian dismissed their interaction so easily. A part of him wanted to start the argument again, while another part of him wanted to ignore Damian’s existence altogether.

 

… But then again, even if he wanted to yell at Damian, he didn’t know what to say anyway.

 

Irritated, Tim focused back on the task at hands. The tension between them made the whole task seem like forever while Tim’s clock only ticked by for a few minutes. The loading bar on the screen flashed and disappeared. Tim pulled the flash drive free and pocketed it, toggling with the options to erase all traces of their visit. From the corners of his eyes, Tim spotted Damian keeping watch on the door and corridor.

 

Once the deed was done, they fled. Out of spite, Tim decided to accompany Damian. The two of them barely looked at each other as they ran. Despite their fast and subtle movements, they were still discovered passing up the main floor.

 

There were three guards, looking startled when Damian and Tim suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Before the first guard had the chance to react though, Damian was already on him, his fist slammed against the bulky man’s solar plexus with a force so strong it knocked him out completely before he even knew it. The second man didn’t fare much better although he managed to touch his gun before he was knocked out, Damian’s sheer speed overwhelming him completely.

 

For his part, Tim had to take on the third guard. The man was in the process of reaching for his radio when Tim struck, forcing him to fight. Tim’s strikes were much harder and with a lot more force than necessary due to bent up aggression. His fight was longer than Damian’s but in the end, Tim managed to knock the guard out with a strike to his head.

 

Tim looked over at Damian, noticing that he was waiting for Tim to finish the fight. With a jerk of his head, they set out again. Luckily, they didn’t anyone else along the way.

 

The deserted streets flashed by them as they ran, eerie silence followed them every step of the way while they navigated to reach their designated location. The plain black League car was still where they had parked it earlier, shining dully. Tim yanked open the door and turned around to tell Damian to get on when he finally noticed it.

 

Damian had slowed down while they ran and stopped completely a distance away from the car, standing still. He was locking gaze with Tim evenly but made no move to continue toward the car. Tim checked their surroundings, feeling anxiety creep up on him. Were they followed?

 

No, no they weren’t. Tim realized when the only sounds he heard were his own heavy breaths. “What are you _doing?_ ” Irritation entered his voice as he pointed inside the van. “Get in. We’d get caught!”

 

Damian just let out a small sound and turned his back to Tim. “I don’t think so.” He tossed Tim a careless wave and a flat “later.”

 

“Damian!” Tim called, trying to appeal to Damian’s logic even though he knew he was fighting a losing battle. “Are you _nuts_? We are hundreds of miles away from Gotham!”

 

Damian didn’t respond. He swung himself over the railing on the side of the road and landed gracefully on the ground, his weight crushed a few dead leaves. He stood up and walked away.

 

“Damian!” Tim tried again. “Come back! What if something happened to you?! How are you going to get back?”

 

Damian didn’t so much as pause to look at Tim. He kept walking, hands in his pockets before his figure disappeared behind the groove of trees. Tim hesitated at the van, frustration, uncertainty and another twisting emotion that he couldn’t identify twist within himself when he remembered the lone figure that walked between the trees, away from everything. It felt almost symbolic… _poetic_ and if Tim had a better way with words, he would have come up with something different, something more meaningful other than ‘it felt like Damian was shutting everyone else out again’.

 

“Dammit!” Tim cursed, and in an uncharacteristic display of emotions, he slammed the side of his hand against the van and made his way toward the railing, gripping it tightly until it hurt. “Damian. Come back.” He called. He wanted to follow Damian, but then what? He couldn’t possibly make Damian go back forcefully. Damian was at least twice as strong as he was, with a lot more experience. If he wanted to disappear, then he would have by now…

 

There was not a single thing Tim could do about the situation.

 

Tim bit down another curse that threatened to come up and he made his way toward the car again, slamming the door much more forcefully than he should. He felt petty venting his anger on inanimate objects but there just weren’t any other ways around this.

 

Tim decided to take off, keeping an eye on the forest, choosing the route that would let him stick to the woods as long as possible.

 

He didn’t see Damian again and soon, he was forced to veer away to get to the interstate.

 

The more space he put between him and Damian, the more frustrated he became. Was this a punishment for the argument happened at the data room? Resentment welled up within Tim but at the same time, he couldn’t help but wonder how Damian was going to get back to Gotham. What if the Chinese Triad caught him? What if he got hurt?

 

Damian was one of the best agents the League ever produced though. If he didn’t want to be found, it was unlikely that they would be able to find him. For a moment, Tim suddenly had the insane idea of wishing that he’d had Damian’s brothers phone numbers. Maybe he could call them and convince them to drag Damian back. Tim shook the silly thought of. Being with Damian drove him too much off balanced… Tim was supposed to be Damian’s partner though. He was supposed to be there for him when something like this happened. What was Tim supposed to do? How was he supposed to convince someone as stubborn as Damian to cooperate when all he seemed to do was the opposite of what was expected?

 

Twenty miles away from Star City, Tim almost decided to turn back. He couldn’t just abandon Damian. For all that he was angry at the other, it bothered him immensely that he didn’t know whether Damian was okay or not. The last image of Damian walking away silently tugged at him.

 

Again, the same question he had asked himself repeatedly over the last hours surfaced. What was he supposed to do? He had no idea where Damian went and if he went back to the woods to search, he would most likely get lost or get captured by the Chinese Triad. Worse scenario, he got captured while Damian managed to get back to the League safe and sound.

 

He had to get the information back to the League. If he failed to complete this, the League would research the mission and hear from the van’s audio that he’d been yelling for Damian to return. If he was caught a second time having an argument with Damian that resulted in issues between them...

 

It wasn’t worth the consequences.

 

Tim had no doubts that his Mother would go through with her threats, if not something even worse. If he came back on his own and submitted the report, he could give Damian a chance to get home and perhaps his absence wouldn’t be noticed by the League. Still, he wished that such situation hadn’t occurred in the first place. The League would no doubt believe that he had failed to keep an eye on Damian.

 

This was exactly what he’d been talking about to Damian; Tim never knew what to expect from him. And since Tim was the probationary agent, any issues would fall on his shoulders to be explained or to take the punishment. It was so frustrating, especially since they’d been getting along better lately.

 

He felt uneasy with this entire change and was even more frustrated with himself for his indecision. His fingers gripped the steering wheel and he hesitated until a car that had been stopped behind him finally honked impatiently.

 

Tim looked at the mirror, and let out a harsh breath. He tightened his grip and decided to speed up, setting his course to the League. It was the best option available to him even if it left him with an uneasy feeling the entire ride.

 

* * *

 

It was almost anticlimactic how uneventful the rest of the drive was. Tim entered the Compound alone, wrote his report and submitted it without anyone noticing the absence of another certain Senior Agent. Or perhaps they did notice, they just chose not to comment on it. Whatever the reason was, Tim was glad that no one approached him along the way. He didn’t think he could deal with anymore talking today.

 

It occurred to him that Damian might use this chance to run away although there was a tracking device on his neck. Tim highly doubted that was the case though. Despite his stubbornness, it seemed Damian lacked the resources to truly accomplish the feat.

 

No matter how mad Tim was at Damian, Tim had to admit, he wouldn’t be able to fault Damian if he decided to run away.

 

By the time he had finished all his duties and gone home, the restlessness hadn’t left him. He couldn’t put the image of Damian walking away, _alone_ , out of his mind. His mind kept going circles around the topic, torn between worry for Damian and anger that such situation happened in the first place. After a while, it occurred to him to check the live feed of Damian’s apartment.

 

Tim shifted between cameras, searching for his partner but he only came up blank. He switched back to the view of the living room and waited for a few more minutes before he turned the feed off, leaning back in his chair.

 

Why should he care if Damian was alright or not anyway? Damian had caused just as many problems as Tim had, and while he had walked away, Tim did attempt to get him back, didn’t he? It wasn’t his problem what Damian decided to do.

 

But it _was_ his problem. And it was his responsibility to look after Damian when he did unexpected things like this. That was why he was even in the League.

 

Tim ended up in the living room, feeling stressed out. He dropped onto the couch and leaned forward, squeezing his eyes shut and resting his elbows on his knees. His fingers dug into his hair and he let out a harsh breath.

 

As his resentment and frustration faded, and as he went over the argument in the base, he had to acknowledge a few things that at the time he'd been too angry to notice.

 

Firstly, Damian hadn’t actually insulted his plan. He just said that he picked a different route which could mean a lot of things. Perhaps the route that Damian had chosen wasn’t suitable for Tim for some reasons. As much as he loathed to admit it, despite trying to put himself through a vigorous routine, Tim’s skill was not up to pair with Damian’s. Tim only thought that it was an insult to his skills because Damian had always been… better than Tim at doing field work. Perhaps Damian hadn’t even meant it as an insult back then, just an observation.

 

Secondly, Tim was the first one to insult Damian. Damian hadn’t started being caustic until the moment Tim opened his mouth to challenge him, saying to his face that Damian hadn’t been thinking ahead.

 

The more he thought about it, the guiltier he felt. He had wanted Damian to treat him like a partner, he had wanted their unit to work and yet, he didn’t even bother to ask for Damian’s opinion on the matter.

 

Still, another part of him argued back. It wasn’t as if Tim hadn’t wanted to include Damian in the discussion. Damian just never showed any interest in planning or research and so, Tim had to take over it himself. He believed he was best at planning a mission while Damian was clearly the superior in executing it.

 

Thinking about it didn’t help him lessen the heavy feeling that Tim had come to realize was guilt. It weighed him down along with frustration and worry in a mix of heavy feelings that Tim wanted to pull free, but could not. His face felt hot, his chest felt tight and he glanced at his father’s work room every few minutes as if the computer would make noises if it could detect Damian’s presence.

 

It couldn’t.

 

That brought another thought to his mind. Why would he care what Damian thought of him? Why would he care that Damian was intentionally rude? He had been rude before, at the start of their partnership, so what was the difference this time? And yet, it was different.

 

Tim did care. And he didn’t understand why he would care about something like that.

 

Time stretched on and on, dragging for so long that Tim felt like the anxiety inside him had become a physical thing, nausea accompanied with everything else that made Tim want to scream or throw up. Finally, after waiting for a few more hours, Tim broke down and went back to the computer, urging it to go faster so he could turn on the cam.

 

At first, it seemed like Damian hadn’t even returned home yet but then, much to Tim’s astonishment, the front door unlocked and Damian walked in. He was too busy taking in Damian’s appearance to notice his emotional state. He didn’t look hurt.

 

Damian strode toward the bathroom the moment the door slammed shut. Tim could see that his jeans were muddy and he looked slightly damp, probably from the rain that had started to fall. Damian stripped off his clothing, leaving it as a trail on his way to the bathroom.

 

As soon as Damian was naked and went to turn on the shower, Tim switched to the view in the living room. Damian had enough issues of violations of privacy without Tim adding to it on his own.

 

Even though Damian had walked around naked in front of him before, it still made Tim feel uncomfortable to see someone when they weren’t aware it was happening. Instead, he idly looked around Damian’s living room. He’d seen the place often enough when he’d watched the live feed. Although he gave Damian his privacy in the bathroom, he couldn’t stop himself from watching Damian in his apartment where he seemed to be aware of the scrutiny of others. He’d tried to avoid the live feed after he’d first discovered it but he’d found himself returning there more than once; looking for those elusive flashes of who Damian may really be.

 

Damian took a very long time in the shower, long enough that Tim grew impatient waiting. He sighed in relief when the door to the bathroom opened and Damian walked out, freshly showered, topless and with a new pair of jeans that Tim recognized as the pair he had helped Damian chosen the time they went shopping together.

 

Tim absently dragged his gaze down Damian’s body, his attention was caught by a few distracting droplets of water that seemed to cling to the other’s narrow hips and muscles. Tim swallowed, pulling his gaze away to focus on Damian’s action. Damian was approaching the fridge, a moody look on his face before he yanked the door open, searching for a carton of milk to drink. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand before shoving the milk back inside and grabbed a bar of chocolate. It was only now that he realized that Damian wasn’t in the best of moods. His eyebrows were drawn downward, jaws clenching and unclenching while he tore into the chocolate savagely.

 

Even while he was eating, he was seemingly glowering at thin air.

 

The scene was so incongruous and yet so much like what Tim had become accustomed to with Damian.

 

Tim watched him, wondering what his dual feeling of unease and comfort meant.

 

Since he didn’t have an answer for himself, and couldn’t even be certain he was assigning the correct labels to his own reactions, he ignored the feeling and focused instead on Damian’s obvious aggravation.

 

Damian balled up the wrapper and threw it into the garbage. Soon, he started pacing. The guilt Tim felt before returned as he wondered whether Damian was so aggravated because of him. It very possibly was the case. Damian’s comment that the past few weeks had been a lie ran through his mind again. Did Damian truly think that? Did he actually believe Tim had been playing him all along? And if so, did this mean Tim was going to return to the way he’d been before? Judging by the way Tim had been acting back in Star City, Damian worried that may be the case. And that was the last thing he wanted.

 

It surprised him that he cared so much. He wasn’t used to caring this much since… before. Still, Tim had come to… appreciate having someone that talked to him without thinking that he had this position only because of his mother; someone who didn’t take it as a personal affront when he sometimes went quiet for minutes, or even hours; someone whose fleeting expressions of interest or intrigue or even near camaraderie felt like a victory over the suspicious glares from the past.

 

Damian was now moving toward the rather plain couch, dropping his weight on it. He reached over for a notebook and a pencil, drawing something that Tim couldn’t see. It was yet another thing that Tim noticed about Damian. He liked to draw. A lot. Damian was always drawing one thing or another when he was away from prying eyes. Either he did that or he worked out. Today, it seemed, that he was unable to do neither.

 

With a small cry of frustration, Damian threw the sketchbook on the floor, exposing parts of it to Tim who was all too greedily taking the snippets in. It seemed Damian was stretching some sort of symbols on the blank page. A blue bird? And a red bat? There was also a half-drawn symbol of a yellow bird’s head with a black background.

 

Tim wondered what those symbols meant. Birds and Bats, did that somehow connect to the tattoo on Damian?

 

He swallowed, fidgeting with the cell phone in his hands. He didn’t want to lose all the progress they’d made simply because of one ill-timed argument and misunderstanding. A wave of uneasiness moved through him again and he dialed Damian’s number, staring at the numbers flashing on his phone before turning his gaze up to the computer screen when he heard Damian’s phone ringing.

 

On the screen, Damian had paused to lean back against the couch with his arms crossed over his chest. His face was turned to the side and half cast in shadow as he appeared to stare into space. However, when the phone rang, he paused and looked at the thing on the counter as if it was the ban of his existence.

 

Damian’s mouth twisted slightly and a distinct look of annoyance washed over him before he pushed himself away from the couch. He crossed the distance in two strides and grabbed his phone without even looking at the screen. “What?” he demanded curtly.

 

“Hello, Damian,” Tim said calmly, logging out of the cam feed. He didn’t want to be staring at Damian’s expressions when Damian didn’t have the chance to look at him in return. It didn’t feel right.

 

There was a brief silence and then a flat, “What do you want?”

 

Tim paused, realizing he didn’t know exactly what to say. He had called with the thought that he didn’t want it to return to the way it had been before and yet he wasn’t entirely sure how to go about that. “I wanted to make sure you’d made it back alright,” he said after a moment.

 

“I’m not entirely incompetent at traveling.”

 

“I wasn’t implying you were.”

 

There was another pause before Damian said, “Well, as you can see I survived. Are we done?”

 

“No. _Look_ –” Tim sighed, bringing a hand to his forehead and closing his eyes. He’d never been particularly good at admitting his own faults. He’d been raised to be so proud that sometimes he felt at a loss how to properly word an apology. At times like this, it was a major disadvantage. “It wasn’t my intention to insult you on the mission earlier. I was frustrated. I… apologize.”

 

This time the silence was longer. For a moment it almost seemed like Damian had hung up but then there was a toneless, “I see.”

 

Tim thought about turning on the live feed again so he could see Damian’s expression and get an idea of whether he was making matters worse. However, that would be truly an unfair advantage that he didn’t want to take. Tim paused and then pressed on, deciding that since he had started this he may as well finish it no matter how strained the conversation was getting. “It isn’t that I don’t value your opinion; I just didn’t think you were interested in the planning. I thought it would be most efficient if I planned it based on research you likely didn’t want to do, and I assumed if you had a better idea than what I presented then you would tell me.”

 

Damian made a low sound on the other end. Judging from his tone, he didn’t seem entirely trusting of this explanation. It was entirely likely that he now believed that all of their interaction that had been civilized and even sometimes pleasant had been an act. If that was the case, then he’d likely think this was now an effort to regain his trust. Damian’s thoughts had some logic to it… But still…

 

It was a frustrating situation.

 

“Why don’t you come to the compound and we can discuss this in person,” Damian said at length. His voice still held heavy notes of skepticism. He most likely didn’t expect Tim to take up on the offer.

 

Tim raised his eyebrows, mildly surprised by the suggestion. He’d half expected the man to hang up on him. “Alright. Where would you like to meet?”

 

“Come to my apartment,” was the short reply. The line went dead immediately after.

 

Tim slid his phone into his pocket and grabbed his keys on his way out. As he drove to the compound, he wondered about the situation. This was the first time he would be in Damian’s apartment – the first time either of them had invited the other to their house. It was interesting that Damian hadn’t chosen the typical neutral territory of a courtyard or somewhere else. However, there, they wouldn’t have even the modicum of privacy that Damian’s apartment offered. Tim assumed that Damian wanted to talk in person so he could see Tim’s body language and expression, to gauge whether he was telling the truth.

 

When he got to Damian’s building he already had his ID card out from showing it to the guards at the entrance. He saw the swipe pad next to Damian’s locked door and remembered being told in passing something about his access rights. He swiped the card out of curiosity, half expecting it to not work. The lock pad flashed green and he opened the door, walking into Damian’s apartment.

 

Tim barely had the chance to see that Damian had put on a shirt before he registered Damian’s reaction. The expression on Damian’s face was one of genuine surprise. As the door shut, it turned to anger.

 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Tim stopped, not expecting that greeting.

 

“What?”

 

“Why do you have access to my quarters?” was the sharp demand.

 

“How should I know?” Tim felt like Damian was accusing him of personally seeing to it that he had reason to anger Damian. “It’s not as if I set the access myself. Ask HR.”

 

“And so you take it upon yourself to just barge in here _uninvited_?” Damian practically snarled in response, his eyes narrowing.

 

“ _You_ invited me over!” Tim protested, defensive anger flaring in the face of Damian’s aggression. “You were expecting me any time now. I didn’t think it was such a problem.”

 

Damian growled, his tone scathing. “You didn’t think walking into someone’s home without alerting them to your presence is a problem? You people think you have so much power over me that you can do whatever the hell you want.”

 

“Stop assuming all this nonsense of me,” Tim snapped. “You keep accusing me of all these thoughts I never have.”

 

“Well, whatever fucking thoughts you have are obviously not making themselves seen in the way of your actions,” Damian retorted. “You act like a self-righteous, condescending little bitch on the mission and now you walk into my apartment as if you have the right to have access to it. It never crossed your mind that you’re crossing a line? It never occurred to you that you’re invading my privacy just like everyone else does _every_ fucking day?”

 

“I was just testing the card,” Tim shot back in frustration. “I didn’t think it would work. I would never have even tried it if you hadn’t invited me here and hadn’t been expecting me any minute. I won’t ever use the card like that again.”

 

Damian just shook his head, looking off to the side as his jaw clenched and unclenched. His entire body was wrought with tension as he stood ramrod straight with his arms crossed.

 

Tim sighed, feeling exasperated by the situation. He looked away broodingly, pushing his hair back from his face. He disliked the misunderstanding and the miscommunication that just kept happening between them. However, he’d come over here to apologize and even if he had to stumble through it, he was determined to do so. “I don’t have ill intent when it comes to anyone, Damian, least of all you,” he said with tired honesty. “I have times when I get frustrated or do something without thinking, just like anyone. I’m sorry for my mistakes but none of the issues today have been purposeful on my part.”

 

Damian didn’t respond or even react enough to show whether he was listening.

 

“I didn’t want to argue,” Tim pressed on after a pause. “I only came to apologize. Earlier, I was frustrated after having spent hours on something that was completely ignored. Maybe it seemed like I think I know more about missions than you but I don’t. When I get frustrated I say things I don’t mean, and sometimes you seem to assume the worst of me no matter what I do. And...” Tim hesitated. He knew this was all on camera but at the same time, it was important to him that Damian heard what had been on his mind all day. “…And… I don’t want that. I don’t want you second guessing me based on one or two events and ignoring everything else in between. I thought we were getting along better lately. I wanted it to stay that way.”

 

Damian still didn’t respond and after a moment, Tim sighed and dropped his hands at his sides. His expression closed off as he turned away. He wasn’t going to put himself out there like this if Damian wasn’t going to do anything other than act like a statue. “Forget it.”

 

Before he could turn the door handle Damian grabbed his arm and yanked it back. Tim was briefly tugged off balance. He jerked at his arm but Damian didn’t shift; his fingers were as strong as steel and just as unyielding. Frustrated and annoyed, Tim twisted and shoved Damian in the chest to get him to back off. It had zero effect aside from making Damian’s eyes narrow.

 

“Just fucking wait,” Damian said, jerking Tim back.

 

“Let go of me,” Tim snapped.

 

Damian was as strong and unmovable as a mountain. The thought that Tim couldn’t get away grew stronger as Damian didn’t give in at all. Tim started to struggle more in earnest, becoming unnerved. It was beginning to feel too much like being held down and a thrill of alarm made his heartbeat skyrocket. He tried to twist out of Damian’s grip but Damian snapped his other hand out and grabbed Tim by both his arms. Long fingers dug into him before Damian abruptly slammed him back against the wall, pinning him with hands digging into his upper arms.

 

Suddenly Damian’s face was so close to his that their noses were nearly touching. Vivid green eyes were blazing down into his and Damian was growling again, “I said _wait_.”

 

The words caused Tim to still, his chest shifting as he caught his breath. The panic that had started to set in at being immobilized faded as Damian’s uttered words caused his breath to mingle with Tim’s harsh pants. Tim made a conscious effort to try to calm himself, to stop his chest from heaving against Damian’s from the exertion to get away.

 

The panic was gone but the remnants of it only made him hyper aware of their proximity. The smell of Damian, freshly showered, his still damp hair against Tim’s face, his mouth shockingly close when his lips parted to speak; those intense green eyes burning into Tim with a smoldering intensity that seemed at the moment just as caught as Tim’s. Damian’s lips parted as if he was going to speak again, but he didn’t. His eyes just remained locked with Tim’s, his fingers loosening although they didn’t slide away.

 

“Why?” Tim’s voice came out a little rough. The response wasn’t immediate. Damian’s eyebrows drew together and he opened his mouth to speak but closed it soon after. There was frustration on his face at that moment – frustration that was marked by confusion. Whatever was causing it didn’t make Damian back off, though. He remained nearly pressed against Tim as his narrowed-eyed gaze skimmed over Tim’s face before focusing intently on his eyes. His hands shifted, bracing against the wall on either side of Tim’s shoulders.

 

The feeling of Damian’s body so close against Tim was causing his thoughts to scatter. He couldn’t help noting Damian’s muscular shoulders. He knew what Damian’s chest looked like beneath his shirt, covered in beads of water that slowly traveled down his body.

 

With Damian so close, it was impossible not to think about that, and impossible not to notice how attractive his features were. Tim’s gaze started to drop to Damian’s full lips but he made himself look back up to Damian’s eyes before he could. Not that staring at those green eyes was much better. Uncertainty dominated the confusing emotions that were beginning to swirl inside of him.

 

“What do you want?” he pressed.

 

“You–” Damian broke off.

 

There was a moment of tense silence, emphasized by their heavy breathing.

 

Finally, Damian scoffed. He backed off as suddenly as when he had made contact with Tim and retreated a step. The last vestiges of confusion disappeared as he said gruffly, “ _You piss me off_.”

 

The attraction Tim had been feeling faded with Damian’s words and the loss of his proximity. Tim raised his eyebrows, giving Damian a mildly incredulous look as he pushed himself away from the wall. Now he was just annoyed again.

 

“ _That’s_ what you wanted me to stay and hear?”

 

Damian turned away and stood with obvious tension. There was hesitation before he spoke but when he did it was awkward. “I don’t know what to believe when it comes to you. I don’t trust you. I don’t trust anyone _._ And I don’t want to.”

 

Tim crossed his arms and looked away. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

 

“Don’t say anything,” Damian snapped, turning again. He ran his hands through his damp hair, exhaling slowly. “Just shut up for a change.” He went silent again, watching Tim out of the corner of his eye. He seemed unsettled by something and it was making him fidget as he haltingly spoke the next few words. “I like getting along with you. But I _don’t_ trust you. And I don’t know what to fucking do about that.”

 

Tim was quiet, watching Damian for a period of silence. “Well,” he said, his eyebrows drawing together. “I don’t entirely either, but since we both like getting along with each other why don’t we keep aiming for that?”

 

“I don’t know how to get along with people.” Damian sighed, looking disgusted, at himself or at his own situation, Tim didn’t know. Then, his gaze wandered over to Tim fully again. “I’m seventeen and you’re the first person I ever had a normal conversation with that aren’t related to me. You can’t expect much from me. And if you do, you will be sadly disappointed.”

 

“I’m not particularly extroverted myself so I can’t promise I’ll do much better,” Tim said, shaking his head. “But I’m willing to at least try for this partnership.”

 

At that, Damian stared at him in seemingly genuine confusion.

 

“Why?”

 

“Because it’s a significant portion of my existence at this point,” Tim said honestly. “And since I prefer to get along with you rather than not, I see no reason to not put in the effort.”

 

Not looking entirely convinced, Damian just shook his head. “We’ll see.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next chapter:**
> 
> Tim watched him a moment and wondered what that meant. He must not have been with many people which wasn't surprising given his circumstances. “Who are you interested in, then? Men? Women?”
> 
> “I've grown to despise both.”


	14. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *is ded*
> 
> Onto something more serious, thank you, honestly, thank you, everyone, for sending me such encouraging words. The problem hasn't been solved yet, but it isn't caused by me so it's not like I can solve it even if I want to lol But hopefully, it should be soon. Hopefully. If not... Ehhh... *shrugs*
> 
> A little **_announcement_** for a schedule change in updating in the last few weeks of August: Next week, the chapter should be still updated on Thursday if no emergency comes up, but the week after the next, the chapter will be updated on August the 18th instead of the 17th as it is my birthday gift I write for myself, and I wanna share it with everyone else, too lol
> 
> The week following immediately after that week will be a two-updates week, officially ending the prelude (And yes, the prelude, _not_ 'part 1' of the series) of the first installment. We are almost done with building up the world, guy! How exciting! After that, the real fun begins. I'll be taking a break to focus fully on JayDick week and SladeRobin weeks which will take place on October (And I haven't written anything yet. Crap...) and also, NaNoWriMo... So I won't be back until the end of November (Probably with a new long story, too if NaNoWriMo works out). *pats* that doesn't mean I'll be shutting down completely though, I'll still update short stories, I just need time preparing for the next big chunk of words.  <3

Watching the scene that was unfolding in front of him, Tim understood a little better why the other agents in the compound called Damian the Monster. It was not just a baseless assumption.

 

_Crack._

 

A sickening sound pierced through the intense atmosphere of the battle as Damian delivered a punch to a man before kicking his leg back, sending the man that was trying to stab him in the back flying toward the wall, the man’s back hitting the concrete. However, Damian paid him no mind. Instead, he immediately went on offense mood again, crouching low for another sweep of his leg.

 

Tim’s heart skipped a beat when a stray bullet grazed past Damian’s cheek, but Damian didn’t seem to be concerned with how close of a brush to death that was. He just yanked free an unconscious man’s gun, cocked it, and fired. It hit the bullseye.

 

The rain of blood and gore that followed after was almost too much to watch, and in his moment of distraction with watching Damian, Tim forgot that he was supposed to fight as well. A forceful blow to his shoulder made Tim hit the ground. He half rolled half skidded but at last, he managed to gain momentum and tried to use it to his advantage, attacking another enemy, slamming his staff against the man’s head to knock him out.

 

Things blurred together in a haze of blows, kicks, and blocks for Tim for a moment when Tim was forced to focus back on his partner, he saw that Damian had abandoned the guns for something more hand on. It was a katana, and by the look of it, it seemed to be the expandable one that could be disguised as something else.

 

Had Damian been carrying such an item the whole time?

 

Watching Damian fight with a blade, Tim had to admit, Damian was even more skilled with it than with a gun. Each cut was lethal, ensuring maximum attacking power. Soon enough, the ground in the warehouse they were in covered in blood.

 

Tim supposed the bloodbath started with misinformation.

 

The warehouse he and Damian had been sent to destroy, taking the node of a rebel group along with it, was supposed to hold fifteen men. They’d arrived to find closer to sixty. It had seemed like an impossible mission until Damian simply took out his gun and fired.

 

Everything very quickly descended into total chaos.

 

And at that moment, a good ten or more looked to be dead or dying and the rest were trying to kill Damian.

 

And none of them were succeeding.

 

Damian was like the eye of a storm and the men darting in and flying out around him were his tornado. He had his katana out, and was slashing the attackers with a grace that Tim envied. His bare arms gleamed with sweat and what looked like blood, and the same could be said of his face. His expression was set in that distant, serious look Tim had seen on some of the videos.

 

The face of death.

 

Soon enough, even the katana handle was slippery with blood. With an annoyed ‘Tt’, Damian sheathed his blade. Soon, the fight turned to bare hands. Throats were ripped out, shoulders dislocated and people thrown through the air as if they weighed no more than a paper doll. One man screamed as he was thrown back, slamming against someone behind him. The two fell in a heap of curses and growls and were nearly trampled by three others trying to rush Damian at once.

 

Damian jerked one man around to take the knife of another man’s attack. The knife went straight in the gut while the injured man stared in shock. Damian casually snapped his neck so hard his head nearly spun backward. Damian was already breaking the back of the man behind him as the first man fell.

 

Even without weapons, blood sprayed around Damian in arcs as he ripped bodies apart with little to no effort. When the hostiles shot at Damian he evaded or dragged other people up to serve as human shields. Bones snapped, breaking through skin and showing gruesomely as white shards while blood spurted out. Bodies tumbled, some in disarray and some looking mostly intact, but almost all of the faces were set in looks of surprise. As if the person never expected to die here.

 

It seemed everyone had forgotten that there was supposed to be two intruders at this point when one was such an overwhelming force. They ran past Tim to attack Damian, giving Tim plenty of change to slip in a hiding place, holding his bruised ribs gingerly, observing the fight still.

 

Tim watched in a mild form of disbelief at the carnage that was happening around him, he tried to make sense of how it had all started. He and Damian had been setting explosives around the warehouse. It was going to be a simple bomb job and they’d been careful to be quiet. Still, they hadn’t counted on the numbers and that had been their downfall.

 

It felt just like Damian was trying to protect him by becoming the center of the attention when a man ran away from Damian and toward Tim’s hiding place, presumably to search for cover as well, Damian yanked him back and put him down permanently.

 

…But it couldn’t be, could it? Was Tim reading too much into this? Damian was just doing his job, not protecting Tim.

 

There was a scream that was cut short abruptly, the thump of another body hitting the floor, and then silence. It stretched for a moment before the sound of a single pair of booted feet walking across the concrete floor echoed across the room.

 

Tim looked out from his point of cover.

 

As expected, Damian was the only one left standing. He was completely covered in evidence of the massacre. Blood streaked his face, splattered his clothes and dampened his hair. It was difficult to tell if any of it was his but aside from a slightly halting gait when he strode quickly to Tim’s side, he seemed fine. “Set the charges anyway,” Damian said flatly, green eyes devoid of emotion as they surveyed the room.

 

There was a brief beat of silence while Tim stared at him before he looked away abruptly with a nod. As he moved out from behind the crates, he could see the massacre that was left.

 

It was like seeing a real life version of some of the video games he’d once played, a long time ago. How could so many people have been killed by one man? How could that man have used his bare hands for some of it? And how could it all be over so quickly? It seemed impossible.

 

There was no way to avoid pools of blood as he returned to where he’d been crouched before everything went to hell. He finished arranging that explosive. His fingers came away sticky with blood and something else, possibly some brain matter.

 

He ignored it and simply wiped his hands on a clean patch of floor. He was going to have to wash his hands later.

 

He stood again, glancing sidelong through a fall of long hair to check Damian but the senior agent had his back turned to Tim as he presumably checked on something over there. There had been one explosive that Tim remembered thinking may not have been set properly across the warehouse. He skirted the perimeter of the room to walk over there.

 

His boots made sticky, sucking noises as he passed through puddles of blood.

 

He crouched by the other explosive and couldn’t help looking over at the pile of bodies near him. It was an intense caricature of life cut short. It didn’t even seem real.

 

He surveyed the room again before he turned and silently walked back toward Damian.

 

He stopped at Damian’s side, his fingers curling around the remote as he pulled it out of his coat pocket. He held it up to show that they could remotely detonate whenever they wanted.

 

“I’m ready.”

 

Damian didn’t answer and the two of them left. It was dark outside, aiding in concealing the blood that spattered Damian. They got into the van and drove a block away before Tim hit the detonation switch. The explosion rocked the van and broke out windows on some of the neighboring buildings. The fire erupted, casting strange, flickering shadows across the street as they calmly drove away.

 

They were gone before anyone could respond and notice they’d been there.

 

The safe house they had for this mission was an empty apartment in an area of the city where no one paid much attention to anyone else. On the drive over, Damian didn’t speak much so Tim didn’t either.

 

When they got in the apartment, Damian immediately went to the bathroom. The sound of the pipes gurgling as the shower turned on could be heard through the wall, spatting out water spontaneously.

 

Tim packed up their gear and did a sweep of the apartment to ensure they weren’t leaving anything behind. He had their bags packed and ready to go by the time Damian stepped out of the bathroom, wearing fresh clothing and with the heat of the shower still flushing his complexion. They shouldered the bags and left the apartment, with Damian taking only a short detour down the alley to throw his bloody clothing into the dumpster.

 

They were back at the van and on the road again not long after having blown up the warehouse. Tim ended up in the passenger seat, which he was glad of. He’d driven out here and although he hadn’t had a physically intensive part of the mission he was still tired. Since it was going to take six or more hours to drive back to the League and it was already the dead of night, Tim was glad to be able to stretch out. Still, having to not pay attention to the road just meant he had more time to think about everything…. which meant he found himself discreetly watching Damian as the city lights flashed by them.

 

Damian’s face was cast in stark shadows as they passed between dark and light areas of the city. It made the unreadable quality of his expression seem tenfold and lent weight to the silence between them.

 

Although Damian had showered, Tim still couldn’t look at him without remembering the blood coating him. The flecks of something else spattered across his form like he was some nouveau art installation decorated by pieces of a corpse.

 

Tim looked away, his eyes narrowing pensively as he stared out the window.

 

He almost felt uncomfortable even turning his head away from Damian; like he had to keep him in his peripheral vision to make sure he wouldn’t suddenly snap and attack him too.

 

The scene kept replaying in his mind. The sheer power and speed that Damian possessed; the silence with which he could move. The fact that he could get behind someone and kill them before they even realized they weren’t alone.

 

And the bodies lying in blood.

 

For a moment, the memory overlaid with another; eyes wide and set in death.

 

_Glassy and too gray for how bright they’d been in life. Blood hot and metallic against his face and that hateful red creeping closer and closer._

_Looking down and seeing his hands coated in blood and gore. Gloves of death._

 

Tim shifted in the seat, his jaw setting and expression turning stony. He shut that thought off abruptly, even though it left the taste of nausea in the back of his throat.

 

That fearful dread gripped his heart and made it feel like it was beating in the deep pressure of the sea.

 

 _Don’t think about it_ , he told himself harshly the same as he had so many other times. _It doesn’t matter. It’s not real. Forget about it. Forget about all of it. It’s over._ But the massacre in the warehouse was too fresh. He could do his best to ignore the other things it made him think of but he couldn’t forget the blood and death. He couldn’t forget how incredibly easy it had looked for Damian.

 

Close to sixty men against one (Tim was under no impression that his fights with a few men had increased Damian’s odds). How were those odds possible in reality? How was it possible that Damian was barely injured? How could they be sitting here so civilly inside the car as if nothing had happened? As if Damian hadn’t just washed the blood of so many men off his body like it was nothing?

 

And yet...

 

He could have died tonight. He probably would have, had Damian not thrown him to the side where no one knew he was there.

 

Tim looked sidelong at Damian again.

 

Damian flicked his gaze to Tim and then away. He didn’t say anything but Tim could see the tension in his shoulders.

 

What was he supposed to do with this information?

 

On the one hand, he’d known Damian could kill this easily. He’d seen it on some of the videos. But things felt different when he was watching it on the screen versus being there in the room. It felt more real hearing the bones breaking and seeing the bodies falling and stepping through the blood to complete his mission.

 

On the other hand, Damian had saved him. But wasn’t that just his job? As far as that went, hadn’t it been his job to kill them as well? Wasn’t Damian just following orders either way?

 

Except Damian had gotten hurt protecting Tim before. He’d saved even saved Tim’s life on that Queen Bee mission. He’d told Tim later that he didn’t want another partner and that he didn’t have much interest in Tim dying. So was he helping Tim because he was Tim, or was he doing what he needed to do for a partner who was bearable?

 

Was he doing this all in self-interest or was there another reason?

 

The more he thought about it, Damian didn’t act the same around the others. He seemed to hate being around many other people – even Stephanie, who everyone liked and who had been on Damian’s side for a long time, and General Kent, who seemed to be trying to help Damian when he could. Yet Damian seemed to show interest in Tim sometimes. He was civil toward him and there had even been the occasional time when something approximating friendliness had passed between them.

 

Sometimes Damian looked at him in a way Tim couldn’t identify. Sometimes it seemed like Damian actually cared about Tim’s existence. Yet other times it felt like nothing had changed between them from the first moment they’d met. There were times he had no idea at all what Damian was thinking and those times bothered him more than he cared to admit.

 

But then there was his blank expression as he killed people. The strength in him as blood spread like arced wings.

 

_The void in his eyes and the violence in his hands._

 

Damian could go either way. He was quiet and intelligent, sitting in the corner of a library talking about paintings and beautiful quotes he read when he had the chance.

 

He was silent and alienated, sitting alone in his apartment as the darkness swallowed him the way it so often felt it swallowed Tim in his own home.

 

He was violent and uncontrollable, tearing at people like so much meat and shooting them with a sure hand that never wavered.

 

He was pensive and unreadable, flicking his eyes between Tim and the enemies as if to ensure his safety, and watching him from the corner of his eye as if wondering what his partner was thinking.

 

Which one was the real Damian? What part could Tim believe in on any level?

 

It left him feeling uncertain and confused; an uncomfortable feeling for someone like Tim, who was used to gathering information, forming an opinion, and being done with it.

 

Part of him knew it would be best if he kept his distance from Damian. After all, these violent spurts were unpredictable. So far they had largely been limited to missions but hadn’t Damian seemed ready to kill Jack awhile back? Although Jack would have deserved anything he got, Damian hadn’t seemed to realize how close he was to the brink.

 

What if Tim angered him like that one day? Damian had nearly killed Tim just for trying to wake him from a nightmare.

 

But he’d protected and saved Tim too. He treated Tim differently than the others, for whatever reason. Tim still didn’t understand why but he couldn’t deny that it was the truth. And he couldn’t deny that there was something about Damian that made it difficult for him to turn away. Something about Damian that made it so he didn’t even want to.

 

He couldn’t help thinking that some of Damian’s situation wasn’t his fault, yet he was paying for it as if it was. He couldn’t help thinking that he and Damian were alike in some ways neither of them fully acknowledged, yet it was that similarity that made him incapable of turning his back. Even if Damian hadn’t been his partner, he felt a certain, strange sense of defensiveness for him, or perhaps protectiveness. As if he was now getting the chance to protect someone from bullying the way he’d been protected in the past.

 

He went back and forth in his mind, acknowledging the danger and the value that Damian represented. He still didn’t know exactly what he thought but he noticed Damian glancing at him a few times. And as the silence stretched between them, he realized why it seemed strange. Although they didn’t tend to have extensive conversations all the time, by now they would have spoken at least a little. Even if it was just about the mission.

 

When it became apparent that they would spend the whole ride in silence if Tim didn’t say anything, he turned his head toward Damian and studied him openly. That look Damian got when he was practically another person, killing indiscriminately, was nowhere to be found on his unreadable features. It tipped the scale for Tim.

 

“Are you alright?”

 

“My injuries aren’t severe.”

 

Tim nodded but didn’t look away. “You’re very quiet,” he observed after a moment.

 

There was a pause and Damian looked over at him again. His mouth turned down slightly and he shrugged. “I don’t have much to say.”

 

“Usually you have something to say by now.”

 

Damian grunted and focused on the road again. His fingers flexed against the wheel and he shifted slightly, eyebrows dipping down. It was clear that even if his injuries weren’t severe, they were still causing him some degree of discomfort. He’d stopped hiding his wounds so completely only recently, but it was still surprising to see.

 

More moments stretched in silence until Damian shrugged his broad shoulders. “You weren’t exactly looking very chatty yourself.”

 

Tim was silent a moment as he considered that. He supposed it was true enough. “I was thinking.”

 

“About what a freak I am?”

 

Tim looked over, his eyebrows drawing down. “No.” He paused and then frowned. “I won’t deny that the mission underscored how dangerous you can be but you’ve also saved me twice. I don’t entirely know what to make of you but I can say for certain that I don’t see you as the psychopathic monster others seem to, or that you may believe I do.”

 

Damian turned his head and looked at Tim fully. His eyebrows were drawn together and lips parted, genuine confusion written across the planes of his striking face. It looked like he wanted to say something but he just looked back at the road.

 

“What?” Tim asked.

 

Black hair rustled against Damian’s jacket as he shook his head slightly, dark eyebrows still knitted together. “I didn’t expect you to say that.”

 

“Did you think I would hate you now?”

 

There was another pause and then Damian said slowly, “No. But I thought perhaps now would be the time when the fear you’ve been lacking all along would set in.”

 

“Would it have bothered you if it had?”

 

At that, Damian made a face. “Why do you always need so many details?”

 

“Why are you always so reluctant to answer when I ask?” Tim countered.

 

Damian rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Because you ask questions that are

uninteresting to me.”

 

“The answers would be interesting to me,” Tim replied with a shrug. He looked out the window, noting that they were moving out of the city and onto the highway.

 

“Should everything be solely according to what you want?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Tim snorted quietly and he shook his head, but there was a faint curve of his lips. “If you say so.”

 

Damian smirked and he seemed to visibly relax. It would seem that even though he didn’t want to admit it, the idea of Tim being afraid of him had bothered him. Before anything more could be said, the loud shrill sound of fire trucks sounded somewhere in the distance. Damian looked in the rear view mirror before focusing on the road again.

 

He turned on the local news station and within the next twenty minutes, there was a special report of a large explosion on the outskirts of town. There wasn’t any other information and no indications that anything more was known, so Damian switched the channel. The obnoxious pop music abruptly filled the car and he made a face and turned the radio off.

 

Tim watched Damian for a moment, idly wondering what sort of music he generally listened to, but ended up looking away again without bothering to ask.

 

He watched what he could see of the scenery flashing by, although he didn’t see much. Trees were dark sentinels in the night, broken up by roadway signs saying how long it was to the next several cities and billboards that hadn’t seen maintenance in years. The lights turned toward the billboards to illuminate them had broken in many places, leaving strange messages behind where only half the advertisement could be read. Tim wondered how many of the places advertised were still in existence and how many had become just one more ghost haunting peoples’ memories.

 

With the darkness seeping in from outside and silence in the van, Tim started to get lulled into a doze. His body rocked faintly with the movement of the vehicle and he ended up leaning his head against the side of the door. The seat belt pressed against his lap and stretched lightly across the shoulder, holding him in place as he started to fall asleep.

 

It felt like his eyes had barely closed when he was suddenly awoken by a change in his surroundings. He sat up a little abruptly, absently pushing hair away that had been pressed against his cheek. He squinted at the lights around him and couldn’t stop a brief yawn. They’d pulled in at a 24-hour rest stop. He looked over at Damian as he started to unbuckle his seat belt.

 

“I want to eat before we get back,” Damian said, glancing up at the diner across the parking lot.

 

Tim nodded, unsurprised. Since Damian got the chance to buy anything he wanted when they were off the compound, he usually wanted to stop for food when they were returning from missions.

 

Tim got out of the van and shut the door behind him. He took a moment to stretch. His limbs felt creaky from being in the same position for awhile. They filled the car with gas and headed over to the diner, crossing the distance as Damian adjusted his jacket and pulled his hood up over his head.

 

Once inside, Tim saw that it wasn’t much different than the other diners they’d been to recently. There was a bar at the front with the rest of the space dominated by booths. No one really paid any attention to them when they arrived, which was one of the good things about roadside diners. They offered anonymity since most people were just passing through.

 

The hostess, a girl with black curls, green eyes and a slightly bored look on her face, perked up when they approached her. Her eyes rose to take in Damian who stared back grimly from beneath his hood, before falling on Tim.

 

“Hi, I’m Danielle. Welcome to Sam’s Shake Shack,” she said with a grin, green eyes flitting up and down Tim quickly.

 

Tim nodded politely in return and glanced away to take in the diner. He hoped they ended up in a booth a little away from others so they didn’t have to overhear any pointless conversations.

 

Danielle started to walk them over to a booth at the front near the window but Damian said flatly, “The one at the back.”

 

She glanced at him again and shrugged. “Sure.”

 

The booth he’d indicated was set apart from the rest of the crowd and she placed menus in front of each of them. “The special shake tonight is strawberry shortcake if you’re interested. It’s pretty awesome if you like that kind of thing.”

 

When neither of them replied aside from Tim nodding she sighed. She gave Tim another once-over. “Your waiter will be right over.”

 

Damian opened his menu and didn’t bother to say anything in return.

 

“Thank you, Danielle,” Tim said, glancing up at her as he opened the menu.

 

She gave him a bright smile and turned away, glancing back before returning to her station at the door.

 

“How cute,” Damian commented from behind his menu.

 

“Hmm?” Tim asked absently as he flicked his gaze along the menu. He didn’t know what he felt like eating. For some reason, he was in the mood for breakfast and turned his attention to the omelets. It would probably fit in his diet.

 

“I forget that you look like a doll.”

               

Tim flicked his gaze up at Damian with a clearly unimpressed look. “Is it possible for you to make it through a conversation without insulting someone in some manner?”

 

“Most likely not.” Damian snapped his menu shut and put it on the table, leaning back against the booth. His eyes were barely visible from beneath his hood.

 

“Well, if you want to say something, just say it,” Tim said as he looked down at the menu. “I don’t like it when people play games.”

 

“I guess I won’t take out my set of checkers then,” was the disinterested reply. Damian looked around the diner, seemingly checking out the other patrons.

 

Tim shook his head to himself and skimmed the menu. He didn’t feel like getting into a roundabout conversation if Damian didn’t want to say what he was thinking in the first place. He didn’t respond and focused instead on determining what he was going to order.

 

The waiter came over and put glasses of water in front of each of them. He was tall, gangly and had shoulder length light brown hair. “Hi guys, I’m Steve and I’ll be your waiter tonight,” he said in a dull sounding voice. His eyes were slightly bloodshot and he looked tired. “The specials today are the golden crusted chicken pot pie with buttermilk biscuits, the tri-color pasta tossed with lemon chicken and the strawberry shortcake shake.”

 

“I’ll have the grilled chicken three-egg omelet,” Tim said. He closed the menu and slid it over to the side of the table so Steve could take it with him.

 

“Potatoes or hash browns with that?”

 

“Potatoes, please.”

 

Steve nodded, not writing anything down. “White or wheat toast?”

 

“Wheat.”

 

“K.” Steve looked at Damian expectantly.

 

There was a pause where Damian stared at Steve and then asked, “What’s a pot pie?”

 

There was another pause as Steve tucked some hair behind his ear and looked at Damian skeptically. Then he shrugged. “Uh. It’s like, chicken, potatoes, peas and carrots and gravy baked into this crust stuff like a pie. It’s pretty good. The biscuits are awesome too. Buttery and stuff.”

 

Damian considered this. “I want that. And a black and white shake.”

 

“Cool. Drinks?”

 

“Just water for me,” Tim put in.

 

“Same.”

 

Steve nodded. “K. Let me know if you change your mind.”

 

When the waiter left, Tim idly looked around the diner. Some men who were clearly truckers were at the counter and a number of customers were dotted throughout the room.

 

One woman was leaning against the table looking thoroughly despondent as she let her half-finished shake slowly melt in front of her. She kept dipping in the long spoon, pulling up bits of the half melted ice cream, and letting it fall back into the glass. One of the truckers was watching her in between bites of his meal.

 

“I wonder what these people would say if they knew what I’d just done,” Damian said seemingly randomly.

 

“I don’t know,” Tim said, his gaze shifting to take in the mannerisms and expressions he could see. Everyone looked, for the most part, very ordinary. “I imagine most of them wouldn’t be able to conceive of it let alone know how to react.”

 

Damian grunted, his eyes going from one customer to another. “I think they’d be disgusted that we’re capable of sitting down to have a nice meal afterward.”

 

“Probably,” Tim agreed.

 

He wondered briefly why it was that he could do that; why the idea of food didn’t disturb him. But he couldn’t change what had happened any more than he could change the functions of his body. There had been a time in his life when maybe all of this would have been too much for him, but he’d seen and experienced a lot over the last few years. And the months at the League had helped to deaden his responses even more.

 

His gaze lingered on the woman with the shake and he shook his head. “Some of them probably wouldn’t care, though. She seems too depressed to notice much of anything around her. I wonder if she lives in the area and came here for comfort food in the middle of the night or if she’s on a long ride where she’s dreading the final destination.”

 

Damian looked over at the woman as he finally pushed the hood away from his face.

 

He studied her before letting his eyes skim over the people around her. He lifted an eyebrow slightly, nodding at the bar. “Whatever her problem is, the big boy in the red jacket seems to want to solve it for her.”

 

“He certainly does,” Tim mused. He studied the two for a moment. “I don’t think he has a chance, though.”

 

Steve came back with Damian’s shake and placed it in front of him. It was impressively large.

 

“Anything else yet, guys?” When they both declined, Steve disappeared again.

 

Damian stirred his straw in the shake and eyeballed it. He leaned forward and took a long sip, nodding as if in approval.

 

“I’m surprised you didn’t get one of the other shakes,” Tim said, looking at the relatively simple order. “Some of them sounded as though they may be sweeter than that.”

 

“They also sounded like they’d make me vomit.” Damian sat back and picked up the thin spoon that was in the tall cup. He stirred it around, mixing in the whipped cream.

 

“However, I may still get dessert.”

 

Tim shook his head again and folded his arms to lean against the edge of the table. “You have the strongest sweet tooth of anyone I’ve ever met. Only you would even consider dessert after a large shake like that.”

 

Damian drank some more, eyes moving around the diner again. “Sugar deprivation as a child.”

 

“You’re going to make yourself diabetic.”

 

That was met with a scoff. “Like I’ll live long enough to suffer the effects.”

 

Tim shrugged. “If anyone would in this line of business, it’ll be you. Your skills are uncanny. I doubt you have to worry about much on missions for the foreseeable future.”

 

“Aw shucks sweetheart, you’re going to make me blush,” Damian said around his straw, looking up at Tim from beneath his black hair.

 

“Oh, is that all it takes?” Tim drawled, his eyebrows ticking up. “I was under the impression you were shameless.”

 

The comment seemed to surprise Damian and he actually stared with confusion for a moment. “Why?”

 

Tim couldn’t help a small smile. He was amused by the idea of catching Damian off guard on something like that. “I was teasing you. Nothing ever seems to get to you so if all it took to make you blush is a veiled compliment, I would be surprised.”

 

“Oh.” There was a pause. “It’s somewhat sad that saying I’m less likely to die is a compliment.”

 

“It is,” Tim had to agree.

 

The waiter came by again, this time with a tray filled with plates of steaming food.

 

He set Tim’s food in front of him: a large plate was filled with the omelet and potatoes, and a second, smaller, plate next to it had toast and a small package of butter. Steve then set the pot pie in front of Damian. The table already had condiments set to the side, including a number of packages of jam. He asked them again if they needed anything else and when Tim shook his head, he left.

 

Tim tried a bite.

 

The food wasn’t bad. He’d had better omelets but not many, and at the moment he was hungry enough that anything warm and filling was welcome.

 

Damian was devouring his pot pie at a rapid pace and using his large fluffy biscuits to sop up gravy from the inside of it. For several minutes they did nothing but eat in silence but after awhile, something caught the younger agent’s attention.

 

“The hostess is noticing you again,” he pointed out idly.

 

Tim sighed under his breath and didn’t look over to follow Damian’s gaze. He concentrated on eating as if he had no idea Damian had just said that. It was for the benefit of the girl, though, because he soon muttered, “I wish she wouldn’t.”

 

“Why? She’s pretty enough.”

 

“Because I’m not interested,” Tim said mildly. “And even if I were it’s not as though it would matter. We’ll be leaving soon and I won’t be by here again.”

 

Damian looked over at the girl again, observing her. “If she’s leering at some man in a truck stop, I highly doubt she has a long term involvement in mind.”

 

Tim shrugged without looking up from his food. “It doesn’t change anything for me.”

 

“Why?” Damian asked again, actually looking curious as he paused in his eating.

 

Tim opened his mouth to say something dismissive but he stopped when he took in Damian’s expression. It was rare for Damian to show genuine curiosity in him and even more rare for him to ask personal questions, so it gave Tim pause. He frowned slightly, more in thought than anything.

 

Ironically, he’d assumed that Damian had made the same assumption so many others already had. He didn’t know what to think about the fact that it was possible Damian hadn’t.

 

It made him a little reluctant to come out to him only because they’d finally started to get along more consistently.

 

He wasn’t ashamed of his sexual orientation. But he didn’t want to have to deal with judgment from Damian on something he’d already received judgment on from plenty of other people, his mother included. Especially when it was something he had no control over. But if he didn’t say anything now, Damian would find out eventually anyway and whatever his reaction would be, it probably wouldn’t change. Better to just get it over with so he didn’t let himself start enjoying Damian’s company if it could all fall apart anyway.

 

“Because I’m bisexual with a dominant preference for males.”

 

A flash of surprise crossed Damian’s face and he looked confused. It wasn’t an exaggerated expression; his eyebrows drew together slightly and he tilted his head to the side. He studied Tim, looked around, and then said, “So if it was an attractive man would you go off with him?”

 

Tim raised an eyebrow. That hadn’t exactly been the response he’d expected and it left him a bit bemused. “No. I said I had a preference for males, not that I have sex with everyone I see who’s passably attractive. I’m not particularly interested in flings with anyone, whether or not they’re male or female, attractive or not.”

 

“Ah.”

 

Damian forked up another mound of his pot pie and chewed it slowly, staring at Tim without much of an expression on his face.

 

After a moment of watching Damian, Tim picked up his fork and cut off one of the last pieces of omelet. He speared the piece and hesitated with it in front of his mouth before he took the bite. “Is this going to cause a problem for us as partners?”

 

This earned him one of Damian’s half skeptical, half annoyed faces – the ones that implied he thought Tim was ridiculous for whatever reason. “It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other. I was just wondering if you’d ever actually been with a man.”

 

“Ah.” Tim chewed, watching Damian thoughtfully. He supposed it didn’t matter if he answered that, especially since he often asked questions of Damian. He swallowed and speared the last fold of the omelet without looking away from Damian. “Yes, I have.”

 

“Oh.” One of Damian’s dark eyebrows rose higher than the other. “Weird.”

 

“Why is that weird?” Tim asked, giving Damian a slightly odd look.

 

“Because, most of the time, you have zero personality. I can’t imagine you being intimate with another human being.”

 

Tim raised an eyebrow. “I hate to disappoint you, then,” he said mildly as he started to eat the potatoes.

 

Damian just shrugged, turning his attention back to his food and occasionally observing the people around him.

 

A few minutes passed with neither of them saying anything. As Tim ate, he found his gaze more than once returning to his partner. Although they’d eaten at diners before, for some reason it struck him today about how strangely normal this all was.

 

And how he was actually kind of liking it. He was enjoying the chance to have a conversation with Damian, even if it was on topics he hadn’t ever planned to come up between them.

 

And that’s what led him down another line of questions he couldn’t get out of his mind. Now that they were talking about sexual interest and relationships, he couldn’t help thinking about Damian. The man was unquestionably attractive. His body alone was enough for Tim to find his eyes straying toward it when he wasn’t thinking about it, but Damian’s face made it all that much better. His eyes were striking and expressive; intense.

 

And his full lips were just as intriguing.

 

It made it worse, in ways, to remember going to Damian’s that night they were arguing. He could still recall Damian’s hands, strong and holding him still, but not hurting him. Despite all that strength, despite the fact that Damian could probably break bones if he wanted, and despite the fact that Tim had been struggling against him – Damian had held him still without harming him.

 

And then shoved him against the wall.

 

Tim looked away from Damian and focused on his plate of potatoes so nothing could accidentally be seen in his eyes. He wondered what that had all been about. He’d wondered about it after he’d left, too, although neither of them had ever brought it up again. He couldn’t deny the confusion that had come from that hard body pressing against him. That breath curling against his lips and those eyes, those damn unforgettable eyes, so close to his own.

 

Tim skewered a potato and chewed on it in contemplation.

 

Despite the fact that Damian was often glowering at others or seemed sarcastic, the more Tim saw of his other expressions the more he felt like he was getting reeled in.

 

And he didn’t know what made Damian more attractive: that glare that fended others off and lent mystery to him, or the intriguingly normal and, at times, uncertain way Damian could be in quiet moments like this.

 

It was a little frustrating. Part of him wished he hadn’t been assigned a partner who looked like he could easily pass as a model on a worldwide circuit. The man’s combination of features was criminal, as far as Tim was concerned.

 

It was the fact that he was so damn attractive that made Tim wonder what Damian’s past was like with other people. Although so many people seemed to be afraid of him, had that always been the case? Did the fact that he’d pressed Tim against the wall, their lips nearly touching, mean he was attracted to men or had it all been a misunderstanding? Something that had happened when they’d both gotten carried away? How many people, if any, had braved that glower to get close enough for intimacy?

 

Damian had said before that Tim was the first person he really had these sort of conversations with, yet he seemed completely confident when it came to almost anything he was doing. And he hadn’t hesitated to ask Tim about being with the hostess, as if it would be perfectly normal to go to the bathroom for a quick spot of sex between the meal and dessert. So is that what he was used to? Having one night stands or quickies with whoever was interested? Or did he have a different sort of past and had just assumed that was what Tim would be into?

 

“What about you?” Tim asked curiously.

 

“What about me, what?”

 

“Your interests or relationships,” Tim clarified as he put a little more salt on the potatoes.

 

Damian stirred his straw around in the milkshake for a moment, regarding Tim quietly. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking at that moment, but at least he didn’t brush off the question the way he would have in the past.

 

After a moment he took a sip and shrugged, saying blandly, “There’s not much to talk about in that regard.”

 

Tim watched him a moment and wondered what that meant. He must not have been with many people which weren't surprising given his circumstances. “Who are you interested in, then? Men? Women?”

 

“I’ve grown to despise both.”

 

The comment made Tim’s gaze linger on Damian briefly before he nodded and continued eating. Damian must have had some unfortunate ends to relationships in the past to have gotten to that opinion. It lent more questions, including whether that meant Damian was bisexual, but he didn’t voice them. He didn’t think Damian would answer and even if he would, he didn’t know what he would do with the information anyway.

 

It wasn’t like it really mattered how many or few people Damian had been with in the past. None of that had anything to do with Tim.

 

They didn’t say much through the rest of the meal. Tim was still a little distracted but Damian seemed pretty normal. Tim could feel the weight of those green eyes on him more than once, which wasn’t unusual. Damian had a tendency to watch him on and off since they’d met.

 

In the beginning, it had seemed like he was watching for Tim to slip up on some act. Then it seemed he was watching him to figure out what his motivations were. And later it seemed he was studying him, as if perplexed to find someone like Tim existed or perhaps trying to determine what made Tim tick. Whatever the case, it was distracting but Tim did his best to ignore it. It was stupid of him to be this distracted by the simple questions that had come up between them, anyway.

 

They hadn’t spent too long at the diner by the time they were both finished. They threw their money down and started across the room. Tim noticed Danielle eyeing him again. She was sitting on one of the bar stools in a quiet conversation with one of the waitresses. Even so, after he and Damian passed he overheard one of them musing, “He’s probably gay anyway.”

 

Tim’s eyes narrowed faintly and he resisted the urge to look over his shoulder in exasperation. It irritated him that people so easily assumed that of him. If he had a more overtly masculine build and, more importantly, face, then no one would probably make that assumption based on his mannerisms. He didn’t hear anyone ever speculating that Damian was gay despite the fact that he was certifiably gorgeous to behold.

 

So why was it that everyone seemed so ready to believe it of Tim?

 

“What’s your problem?” Damian asked as they walked back out into the night.

 

“Danielle,” Tim replied with a suppressed sigh. He looked sidelong at Damian and tried not to let it all irritate him more than it already had. “I’m tired of people making such automatic assumptions that I’m gay when I don’t even stereotypically act like I am.”

 

“Hmm.” Damian considered him for a moment and reached out suddenly, grabbing Tim’s chin and leaning forward to stare down at him contemplatively. His green eyes seemed so close and intense. His fingertips slid against Tim’s skin, brushing against his neck briefly before they fell away entirely. The feel of those fingers touching his bare skin was so unexpected that Tim almost stumbled. “Maybe it’s the hair.”

 

Tim’s eyebrows raised and his eyes slightly widened. His lips parted but he didn’t know what to say at first. Damian was watching him and he wondered what the older man was thinking.

 

Tim looked away abruptly, absently pulling some hair behind his ear as he tilted his head down in a nod. In his mind, his skin tingled quietly but maddeningly where Damian had touched him. He resisted the urge to scrub at it or linger his own hand briefly against his cheek.

 

“Could be,” he said, although his voice wasn’t quite as calm and collected as usual.

 

Damian didn’t answer and the two of them got back into the van. They pulled back onto the road and continued on their way toward Lexington. This time, there was no way

 

Tim was going to be able to sleep. He was entirely too aware of the fact that they were alone in the cabin of the van. They weren’t even that particularly close to each other, but the proximity was enough that if Damian had to reach over for something his arm would sometimes come close to brushing Tim’s. And Tim didn’t know if he did or did not want that touch to happen.

 

He felt confused.

 

He couldn’t help going back to his debate from earlier. The sheer strength that Damian had was contrasted so starkly with the way he was around Tim. He not only treated Tim differently by actually talking to him and now showing genuine curiosity in certain aspects of his life – but he also treated him differently physically. He could kill people with little to no effort but when he touched Tim, it was different. He protected Tim, or held him without harming him, or, most bewildering of all, gently ran fingers along his skin.

 

The thought made a shiver tingle up Tim’s spine. Part of him wanted Damian to touch him again. He wanted those long fingers to slide back and tangle in his hair. That same part couldn’t help wondering what it would have been like had their lips touched that night in Damian’s apartment. What would Damian taste like? How firmly did he hold the person he was kissing? How would it have felt to be wrapped in those powerful arms, held tight against that strong body?

 

Tim’s lips thinned and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. What the hell was wrong with him that he kept thinking these things? Why couldn’t he make himself forget it or ignore it all like he’d been able to with so many other things for so long?

 

He resisted the urge to sigh and focused instead on watching the road signs flash by. That didn’t take long to bore him, however, since the road signs were few and far between on this stretch of the highway. With nothing but darkness outside, inevitably he found himself paying attention to Damian instead.

 

He noticed that as they grew steadily closer to the League, Damian started to grow tenser. His fingers started to flex against the steering wheel and his eyes became progressively hooded. Tim observed the shift in his partner’s demeanor for a few minutes before he asked something that he’d been wondering for awhile.

 

“Why don’t you ever just run away?”

 

The question seemed to surprise Damian because he gave Tim another of his slightly perplexed looks. Then he shrugged, mouth turning up slightly. “Where would I go?”

 

“I don’t know.” Tim gestured vaguely. “Anywhere but the League. You could flee to another country where they don’t have a strong reach.”

 

There was a stretch of silence as Damian looked out the windshield, guiding the car through the blackness that surrounded them. After a moment he gave a careless one shouldered shrug. “I wouldn’t be any use on the outside. Someone who can slaughter a warehouse full of hostiles and still maintain an appetite isn’t exactly inclined to the domestic life.”

 

“Maybe, but have you tried?” Tim asked with a faint frown. “There are many types of jobs out there even in civilian life. Is the idea of a domestic life all that’s stopping you?”

 

“No. It just wouldn’t work.”

 

“Why not, though?” Tim pressed. “Are you worried about them noticing too soon if you left on a mission? Because if so I could cover for you.”

 

The comment caused Damian to look over and give him a long assessing stare. His lips pursed together and his green eyes skimmed Tim’s face before he looked back at the road. “Why would you ever do that?”

 

“Why wouldn’t I?” Tim replied with a shrug. “I’m your partner and as such your well-being is important to me. I’ve seen the way you’re treated at the League so if you wanted to leave, I wouldn’t blame you. I could easily tell them I lost you on a mission. Or if we wanted it to be more believable you could injure me; make it look like you attacked me and fled. It could even be fairly severe if that was needed. Since there’s already a running bet on how soon you’ll kill me if a mission doesn’t, I’m sure no one would question that too closely.”

 

“Did it occur to you, in this fantastic plan, that they would terminate you for losing me?” Damian asked scathingly, seeming irritated by the suggestion.

 

Tim shrugged unconcernedly. “It wouldn’t matter. In this line of work, it’s inevitable I’ll die anyway. Since it’ll happen regardless, I don’t mind it having more meaning by at least helping you.”

 

There was another stretch of silence as Damian scowled without looking over. He didn’t bother to explain what he was thinking this time and he shook his head slowly.

 

“What?” Tim asked, watching him a little more closely.

 

“I just think you’re brain dead sometimes. You’re almost like what happens when a completely thoughtless person meets a borderline one.” A pause. “Besides, it would never work. This collar cannot be removed without surgery and it has a tracking chip inside.”

 

Tim considered Damian for a moment. He was bemused to hear Damian mention a psychological disorder like borderline personality since it wasn’t one of the more well-known ones. Since psychology had been an interest of his own during school, it made him wonder if it was something Damian was interested in as well. Still, now that Damian mentioned that he did recall Clark saying something about surgery.

 

“I see,” was all he said aloud. He paused. “What if you found a black market surgeon who could remove the collar?”

Damian sighed, seeming to tire of the subject entirely. He never seemed to have very much interest in the conversation if it was focused on him, especially if it was sympathetic in any way.

 

“They’d have tracked me down by the time I was ready for the procedure to be performed. The League has connections internationally. We also have a European division. And in addition to that, the procedure is complicated. The collar is connected to my spine, and also situated in a way which makes it possible to sever my jugular easily during removal.”

 

“Hmm.” Tim turned to look out the windshield, leaning one arm against the door of the van. “That does make it problematic. I see your dilemma.”

 

Once again Damian just shook his head silently.

 

The rest of the drive was spent in relative silence, broken only by a few inane comments back and forth. Tim was surprised by how comfortable it felt. He wondered how long this would last or whether the two of them would end up sliding back to earlier interactions at some point. He hoped that didn’t happen.

 

When they got to the League and parked in the garage, Tim hesitated when he got out of the van. He found himself unwilling to leave Damian immediately like he always had, although there wasn’t much that he could do about it. He shut the door behind him and looked at Damian over the hood of the van.

 

“Well...” He gestured over his shoulder. “I suppose I’d better write the report...”

 

He didn’t look away from Damian, though. It was almost a bit awkward, as if he were acting like they were two people on a date trying to decide whether or not they should kiss at the front door. He almost made a face at the fact that his mind picked that analogy.

 

“I’ll go too.”

 

“You will?” Tim asked in surprise.

 

Damian shrugged nonchalantly, looking around the parking lot. “If it’s some private thing you like to do, then I won’t.”

 

The comment drew an unexpected laugh from Tim. Trust Damian to make writing a report sound like he was going off to masturbate. “I do prefer the old library but I assure you, I’m not doing anything that can’t handle a witness or two,” Tim said dryly with amusement clear in his eyes.

 

Vivid green eyes slid across Tim’s face, studying him more thoroughly than was necessary. It was almost a full moment before he turned and said only, “Let’s go then.”

 

Tim ended up leading the way up to the old library. He could feel Damian’s eyes returning to him on and off as they waited for the elevator, although it was no more than normal.

 

There weren’t many other people around, given that it was in that time period that was either very late at night or very early in the morning, depending on a person’s perspective. Only one other person ended up in the elevator with them. The young woman was apparently trying to discreetly creep to the corner furthest from Damian without anyone noticing. She seemed tense and unnerved and kept glancing at Damian through her hair.

 

Tim couldn’t help wondering what all these people would think if they saw the other sides of Damian that he did. It was hard to be terrified of a man who could be so normal.

 

No one was in the library and Tim headed toward the back where the old computers were pushed against the wall. Most people used them for little other than a catalog check of the books but since they were the first generation of computers that had been used for reporting, they still had the software and databases installed. Tim preferred the quiet of the library to the crowded bustle of the main reporting room, where he sometimes had to wait for a computer at peak times.

 

He sat down at the computer and got to work. Damian leaned against a table nearby, his arms loosely crossed.

 

And he watched.

 

At first Tim tried to ignore it but it became very distracting, feeling that gaze burning into the side of him. He thought maybe Damian was making sure he wasn’t being disingenuous and writing horrible things about what Damian had done at the warehouse. He thought maybe Damian was checking his wording to be sure.

 

But when he looked over, he was startled to realize Damian was staring at him.

 

Only him. Not the computer at all.

 

The first time their eyes met, Tim’s fingers stilled on the keyboard. He was caught by that intense stare and he wondered what Damian was thinking. What he wanted.

 

How it could possibly be worth his time to have followed him up here only to stare at him while he worked.

 

He ended up smiling slightly at Damian, almost as if he were trying to encourage or reassure him for something he didn’t even know, and turned back to the computer.

 

From then on, he was acutely aware of the way that stare was centered solely on him. And, despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that he’d spent so much of his time being unnoticed by others, he found he kind of liked that Damian was so interested in watching him. Especially when he wasn’t doing anything particularly exciting.

 

Damian didn’t say anything and Tim didn’t want to break the spell so he didn’t say anything either.

 

When he sent the report and closed out of all the programs, he stared for just a second at the blank screen. Then he turned to Damian, searching his expression-- for what, he didn’t know.

 

“Did you make it good?” Damian asked calmly, not breaking his steady stare.

 

 Tim’s lips tilted up on one side as he stood. “Oh, did I ever,” he drawled.

 

“Stories will be told for years to come about this one.”

 

“It’s always good to have something to add to my resume,” Damian said with a smirk, pushing himself away from the table.

 

Tim couldn’t help a faint sound of amusement. “Don’t forget; you can put me down as a reference as well.”

 

They looked at each other for a moment before Damian shook his head slightly and finally looked away. “I suppose I should return to my quarters.”

 

“I should probably go home, too,” Tim said, although it wasn’t with much conviction. He was reluctant to leave Damian’s company. He paused and then tilted his head toward the library’s entrance. “We could walk out together...”

 

It sounded so stupid that he half wished he could take it back.

 

But if Damian found the comment odd, he didn’t let on. He didn’t even make a joke about it or twist the words like he normally would. “Okay.”

 

Tim watched him for a moment and then smiled slightly and turned to leave.

 

They walked back to the elevator together, not saying anything but alternatively watching each other.

 

Tim couldn’t get that stupid comparison out of his mind about a date, which was ludicrous considering the circumstances. He didn’t know why it was so prevalent in his mind. Damian was one of the only people he’d spent any amount of time with in a long time, but he’d spent time with Stephanie as well. And as far as date analogies went, going to someone’s apartment to eat dinner and watch shows fit the bill much more than walking out of a place of work with a coworker.

 

So why couldn’t he ignore the flush of pleasure he felt at being able to extend his time around Damian just those scant few extra minutes? Why couldn’t he ignore the fact that Damian was so attractive? And, most of all, why couldn’t he ignore that Damian had seemed equally reluctant to part as well?

 

Nothing of import occurred on the way down in the elevator and out into the courtyard. Being out in the clear night, Tim slid his hands into his pockets and tipped his face up toward the sky.

 

The buildings of the compound were like monoliths in the night, but he could see dotted spots of color scattered across them where lights glowed through curtains and windows. There were probably other agents returning home from missions right now, and still others getting ready to depart. In the quiet of the night that thought made him feel, just for that moment, like he was part of a greater whole. It was reassuring, after having felt isolated for years.

 

He paused at the point where their paths would diverge and looked over at Damian. “I’m parked over there,” he said, tilting his head toward the main parking lot. As if Damian wouldn’t know, since that was where Tim usually parked. But it seemed as good a way of saying ‘I have to go now’ as anything else.

 

Damian nodded, pulling up his hood again and letting it fall to shade his eyes. “See you around.”

 

Tim nodded and after a moment, the two of them parted. He glanced back once on his way to his car. Damian was walking silently toward his building, the hoody making him a tall, dark figure that slid in and out of the shadows like a wraith.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next chapter:**
> 
> “Can you run? The motel is another twenty minutes away.” Timothy's expression was taut and his face a little pale but he nodded after a brief pause.
> 
> “I can carry you,” Damian studied Timothy with a frown, lips parting and closing for a moment before he decided. “You're bleeding a lot. It may be better.” Relief was unmistakable in Timothy's face.
> 
> “Okay.”
> 
> As soon as the noises of the group disappeared down the block, Damian knelt down on the ground, turning his back against Timothy so that the other could climb up. He felt Timothy's hand wrapped around his neck and Damian's own hands wrapped around Timothy's calves, steadying him in a piggyback position before he stood up and began running through the darkness again. He could feel Timothy's face pressed against the crook of his neck; Timothy's arms tight around his neck. Warm blood was sticky between them and beneath that Damian could feel the beating of Timothy's heart against his back.


	15. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *digs my way out of my own grave* I have returned... Rawr.
> 
> Well, the good news is... My problem has been resolved, peacefully, for the most part. The bad news is... hmm... actually, there's no bad news XD I just wanna remind you guys that next week I'll update the chapter on **August 18th** instead of the usual Thursday update :3 Weeee for birthdays! 
> 
> P/S: I hope you at least make noises when you read this. If you didn't, I had failed lol
> 
> P.P/S: Also, yay for plot developments!!! :D

Lincoln March was different in both attitude and appearance than any of the other rebels that Timothy had met thus far in his career in the League. Normally, they encountered disorderly, unorganized groups with informants who were paranoid or shaken by whatever which caused them to turn double-agent for the League.

 

Lincoln March was no paranoid informant. He was no member of any disorganized group, either.

 

No, Lincoln March was a former member of the Court. This was the closest to a full encounter with the Court that Timothy had gotten at this point.

 

It left Damian wondering how his partner would deal with this new element.

 

March did not look downtrodden, rough or bitter like so many of the others who joined these insurgent groups. In fact, if anything, he looked like a wealthy elitist on the various advertisement panels popping all over the city, someone who better suited playing golf and talking about political topics than standing in a back alley in a shady part of Seattle.

 

March looked fit and wealthy in his tailor-made suit and shiny black shoes. His black hair was combed and pressed neatly against his head. A pair of sharp, alert blue eyes peered at them with calculation.

 

He almost looked nonchalant with his hands slid casually into his pockets but the way his bodyguards surrounded him showed that he was not taking any chances. Whether he was actually frightened of them or he always had this much back up was unknown. It was highly possible that he always went around with an entourage. Apparently, the Court was as fond of deserters as the League was.

 

Regardless, Damian found the whole thing amusing. It wouldn’t take any longer than three minutes to take everyone out unless March could afford exceptionally trained men. Actually… Now that Damian thought about it, it was entirely possible it was the case. If anyone could afford a tailor-made suit, expensive watch and gleaming shoes in the post war economy, they could afford well-trained men instead of street thugs.

 

“I would ask you boys how you found me,” March began with a pleasant smile, “but then again, I’ll assume that you weren’t the clever ones doing the finding,” his eyes slid from Timothy to Damian and back again.

 

“We have our sources,” Timothy answered mildly in place of Damian’s silence.

 

“I doubt you have anything. You are just little messenger boys for whatever agency that is trying to nail the Court this time, isn’t that right?” March chuckled, arching an eyebrow, “so, which one is it this time?”

 

“We represent an independent group that is unrelated to the government,” Timothy said mildly, “you might have heard of us from the time you were still in the Court. We are simply referred to as the League.”

 

“Right,” a smirk spread across March’s face at that.

 

“We have some things we’d like to discuss but perhaps there’s a better setting than this.” Timothy gestured to the alley, which was dark, damp, and had traces of the smell of the garbage in the dumpster at the end of the block. Beneath them, their shoes squelched wetly with each tiny movement.

 

“The setting suits me fine,” was the calm reply. “I didn’t know you League boys were so high maintenance.” March’s gaze slid over to Damian who stared at him blankly.

 

“The ambiance doesn’t concern us,” Timothy replied with a shrug. “I simply thought you may be hesitant to discuss potential business in the open where anyone could overhear, especially given the Court’s notorious distaste for former members.”

 

“I’m not fond of repeating myself.”

 

As always, Timothy seemed unperturbed. “As I’m sure your time is valuable, I will make this short.” He put his hands in his coat pockets. “Our organization is interested in purchasing information from you. As you’ve recently been running into some financial difficulties and the information we seek is likely no longer of use to you, we feel it could be mutually beneficial for all.”

 

March’s other brow rose to join the first one and he rocked on the balls of his feet. His gaze switched back to Damian and focused on him for a moment as if waiting for him to contribute something. When Damian just stared at him with complete disinterest, March scoffed and slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket.

 

“While I’m sure it must be _difficult_ for people such as you – meaning opinion-less lackeys who are sent on errands and kill quests without much say in what’s happening or understanding of why it is – I’m _not_ interested. Is there a particular reason why the League thinks I’d start helping them now?”

 

“There are several reasons, two of which being your financial situation and your defection from the Court itself,” Timothy replied. “Having left their group you’re liable to be targeted by them as a traitor, which no doubt would result in your torture and death. Information from our sources implies the Court may be closing in on your location. We do have the ability to aid in your continued escape by slipping conflicting information into the market, should you choose to work with us.”

 

This time March snorted and looked at his guards. “Am I hearing a broken record? I asked why I would help the League. Everything about you people disgusts me. It’s the reason I joined the Court to begin with. I left because I didn’t like what they were doing down in…” His voice trailed off but he didn’t elaborate on it further, “… and not because I’m suddenly going to switch sides.”

 

Timothy studied March quietly. After a moment, he looked over and met Damian’s eyes.

 

So much for plan A. Negotiation was out. Neutralizing was in. If he wasn’t going to be of any help, his continued existence was unnecessary. All it would accomplish was allowing the Court to possibly find out that the League knew about some of their defectors if March ever went back. Marshal Luthor wasn’t taking any chances with that. He didn’t even want the Court to know that the League focused on them specifically at all.

 

Without any indication, Damian struck. He disarmed the first guard and put a bullet in his head, flinging the second one across the alley to crash to into one of the brick walls that surrounded them.

 

The scene exploded in actions as the remaining guards rushed in. True to Damian’s suspension, March had the money to hire skilled guards. These guys were well-trained, most likely ex-military or even special ops. This made for a significantly more difficult fight than normal.

 

As Damian traded attacks with one of the more skilled of the group, he noticed March scrambling away out of the corner of his eye. Baring his teeth in annoyance, Damian evaded a jab at his throat, twisted out of the way of a knee to his side and barely dodged a bullet careening past his head. He flipped backward and allowed his booted foot to crush the other man’s throat in the process.

 

“Get cover!” he shouted at Timothy, dodging another bullet as he started down the alley after March. With a flick of his wrist, Damian aimed his gun and fire. The sound of the bang echoed eerily against the empty neighborhood and Damian noted with satisfaction that blood was spraying from a wound in March’s eye and his target had gone down immediately.

 

Instinctively, Damian turned on his heels and ran back the way he’d come from.  Somehow he had failed to notice the absence of familiar footsteps following after him. It wasn’t until he halted suddenly that he noticed that he was alone.

 

Timothy was nowhere in sight.

 

A trill of alarm ran through him and he grit his teeth, cursing himself silently as he crossed the distance that he'd come. It had been further than he’d thought—several blocks, and two avenues. The seconds it took to make his way back seemed to stretch unbearably as he realized that he’d fucked up by letting Timothy out of his sight.

 

As he made his way back to the alley, his fear was proven correct. Timothy was sprawled on his side with the remaining bodyguard standing over him, about to blow his brains out. Damian’s eyes flicked from the guard to Timothy. From the corner of his eyes, Damian’s well-trained eyes picked up something.

 

Lincoln March wasn’t dead.

 

Lincoln March wasn’t dead and he was limping away, holding his eye in a way that suggested a serious eye wound, not a fatal one.

 

There was really barely a split second to decide between saving Timothy or completing the mission objective. Damian didn’t even think. He just acted. He narrowed his eyes and unloaded into the guard that had standing over Timothy, barely pausing before he ran to Timothy’s side, ignoring the way March increased his speed to run away faster.

 

He pushed the corpse aside to get to Tim. His eyes scanned the perimeter quickly before he determined that Timothy had dispatched the other guards before going down.

 

"Drake," he demanded harshly, dragging his partner up.

 

Timothy didn’t react to the name. For a terrifying moment, Damian wondered if he had made the choice for nothing. His fingers shifted to Timothy’s neck. A pulse, fast, but it was there.

 

“Timothy,” Damian demanded again, slapping his face lightly in rapid succession.

 

Timothy’s jacket was ripped and damp with blood. Damian swore when he noticed that there was blood in Timothy’s black hair as well, reflecting the dim light. A quick assessment of their surroundings told the story easily – whenever Timothy had fallen, his head had slammed against the edge of the garbage bin. It was now smeared with blood as well.

 

“Timothy, get up,” Damian snapped again, eyebrows drawing down.

 

Timothy’s fingers twitched followed shortly by his expression scrunching. His eyebrows drew down laboriously and his lips pulled up; making him look pained. He barely opened his eyes, looking blearily up at Damian, before letting them fall shut again.

 

It took Timothy a second try to sit up.  The effort left him grimacing in pain. It took him a moment to manage it and he moved gingerly. When he was slouched, his hand went to his head where the blood matted his hair, coming back down when it met with something wet. The red stood out starkly against white skin.

 

“Ow...” he said thickly.

 

“What the fuck happened, Drake?” Damian growled, glaring at Timothy furiously.

 

Timothy looked around, a blearily confused expression marring his face. His hand was still on his head. “I don’t know...” Given how disoriented he sounded, it was unclear whether he didn’t know the answer to Damian’s question or whether he was still trying to understand the situation.

 

“Forget it.”

 

Damian stood up impatiently, grinding his teeth with irritation and pulling Timothy up gingerly. It was obvious that Timothy had a head wound but he didn’t have time to check anything here, with dead bodies all around them and gunshots still echoing off the buildings into the night. He slid a hand around Timothy’s waist and crushed him against his side, more carrying him than supporting him as he started towards the car.

 

Timothy stumbled along beside him, one arm around Damian’s waist with his fingers seemingly absently wrapped in Damian’s clothing. He looked around but didn’t say anything, his dazed expression not fully leaving.

 

It would have been easier just to toss Timothy over his shoulder and hurry out of the vicinity but Damian would loathe to draw attention to them so soon and settled for gripping Timothy as tight as possible against his side. Damian came across a junction and immediately spotted a trail of red. Lincoln March. He left the other way. If Damian left now, he could still catch up.

 

“Damian…?” Timothy asked, still sounding bleary. “What is it?”

 

“Nothing,” Damian muttered and steered Timothy away. He would contemplate what a horrible decision this was later. Not now. Now they needed to get to safety.

 

He took as many turns as possible to get out of the general area of the shooting. It wasn’t long before sirens sounded in the distance and Damian gave up on being discreet. He looked over at Timothy who was still trying to get his bearings and picked him up. With his strength, it was not a difficult task. He could feel the warmth of blood against his own shirt when Timothy’s jacket pressed against it and there was no denying the startled worry that exploded in him.

 

The sudden feeling irritated him and Damian shook his head sharply, pushing everything aside as he ran the rest of the distance. They’d examined the maps of the area closely before coming to the meeting, just in case of an ambush or a need for a quick egress. It was convenient since he wasn’t at all familiar with the labyrinth of streets in the city, and their escape was kept to empty side streets and alleys due to the knowledge.

 

Only once did he have to duck under an awning and into the doorway of a closed shop. A group of drunk young people was stumbling by and Damian slid sideways, blocking Timothy’s bloodied face and hair from view. It likely looked like they were doing something unsavory but at the moment, he didn’t give a shit.

 

Taking the opportunity to examine Timothy further, Damian ignored the catcall that they drew from the passerby.

 

“Are you more alert?” he murmured, leaning forward to hiss into Timothy’s ear as he allowed his fingers to reach up and seek out the wound. Timothy twitched away from the touch. There was a gash from the sharp edge of the dumpster but the blood had already seemed to clot around the wound.

 

Timothy looked up at Damian, his normally icy blue eyes dark in the dim lighting. He nodded, although the movement was gingerly done and he still held himself in very careful positions. “I think so,” he said quietly. Damian could hear pain like a faint undercurrent to his words.

 

“Can you run? The motel is another twenty minutes away.” Timothy's expression was taut and his face a little pale but he nodded after a brief pause.

 

“I can carry you,” Damian studied Timothy with a frown, lips parting and closing for a moment before he decided. “You're bleeding a lot. It may be better.” Relief was unmistakable on Timothy's face.

 

“Okay.”

 

As soon as the noises of the group disappeared down the block, Damian knelt down on the ground, turning his back against Timothy so that the other could climb up. He felt Timothy's hand wrapped around his neck and Damian's own hands wrapped around Timothy's calves, steadying him in a piggyback position before he stood up and began running through the darkness again. He could feel Timothy's face pressed against the crook of his neck; Timothy's arms tight around his neck. Warm blood was sticky between them and beneath that Damian could feel the beating of Timothy's heart against his back.

 

The city streets went by in a blur until they returned to the area their motel was in. It was as equally shady as the area they had met March in but several portions of the city hadn’t regained their stature after the economic collapse. The end result was boarded up businesses that had never acquired new owners, copious amounts of beggars, street walkers and drug dealers in equal numbers.

 

Their motel was one of the few in the area that afforded separate units in a ranch style that didn’t require going near the management office. Damian moved silently through the shadows, melting into them and then separating himself easily once he reached the unit they’d requested. It was the one farthest from the parking lot and closest to the tree line of the surrounding area.

 

He set Timothy down as they went into the surveillance camera’s range and supported Timothy as if helping a drunk friend. Timothy played along well enough but Damian suspected that the stumbling and slightly disoriented quality wasn’t entirely staged.

 

Damian swiped the key card quickly and ushered Timothy into the room. As soon as they were inside, Timothy’s face screwed up and he doubled over to the nearby trashcan.

 

“God dammit,” Damian hissed as Timothy got sick.

 

Timothy shook his head wearily, pushing himself upright when he was done but wincing in obvious pain. His eyes were still half-shut and his face was pale as Damian crouched down next to him. Long fingers flew over Timothy’s jacket, undoing the buttons deftly. He pushed it aside and saw that the black long sleeved shirt that Timothy wore beneath was cut open in an arc at the top where blood was flowing freely.

 

Not hesitating or waiting to ask Timothy’s opinion on the matter, Damian picked him up again and crossed the room quickly. The wound was bleeding profusely and getting the motel room bloody would only draw attention to who had been occupying it once they were gone, especially with the news of murders nearby. The last thing they needed on top of a trip to medical was having to explain the PR nightmare to Inspector Drake if Seattle cops started investigating.

 

“Do you know what I’m doing?” he asked harshly as they entered the bathroom.

 

Timothy nodded although it seemed to take a lot of effort to move his head. His breath hissed out in pain and he muttered something slightly incoherent. The only word Damian made out was “mess.”

 

Glad that they wouldn’t have to argue about this at least, Damian ripped the shower curtain aside and gingerly pushed Timothy down on the tiled floor inside. Both of them were covered in blood by this point, so Damian switched on the water and flicked the shower on – allowing the water to spray close to where he’d situated them. It hit Timothy’s face and hair indirectly. Timothy started with a gasp, eyes opening wide.

 

The water started washing the blood off Timothy, along with the filth that had collected in his hair from the alley. It wasn’t the most convenient option but it was the one that allowed for as little movement of Timothy’s head as possible after he’d been jolted around in their egress.

 

“I need to wash out these wounds without making this whole room look like a crime scene,” Damian said in explanation, crouching on the shower floor next to Timothy. The water was hitting his side and soaking through his shirt but it didn’t matter. He’d have to change anyway unless they made the trip across the country in bloody clothing.

 

Timothy’s eyes were more alert on Damian and he nodded. His eyebrows dragged down and his gaze slid away, squinting as he tilted his head toward the spray of water. He was slouched and looked down at the water that had started to splash back off onto his pants and trickle down his shirt.

 

“What about...” He gestured to the shoes still on their feet.

 

Without waiting for a response he leaned forward, fingers slightly clumsy and shaky as he started to untie the shoelaces of his boots. He looked determined but the position wasn’t doing anything to help stop the flow of blood.

 

“Forget that,” Damian snapped, pushing his partner back against the shower wall, reminding himself to do so gently. “Just be still.”

 

He stood up and backed out of the shower, kicking off his own boots only because they would track the blood that had soaked into the soles onto the cream colored carpet in the main room. The med kit wasn’t even out like it should have been in case of an emergency, but they hadn’t anticipated injuries for such a small scale mission.

 

Swearing and ignoring the steadily building tension in his body, Damian narrowed his eyes and forced himself to focus solely on the matter at hand. His own issues could wait.

 

Unzipping the duffel bag with more force than was necessary, Damian dug out the med kit and belatedly took out his gun. It was soaked from the water. In his haste, he’d forgotten to remove it before jumping in the damn shower. Stupid. When had he become so completely unprofessional over a couple of fucking flesh wounds?

 

Grinding his teeth in agitation, Damian turned away from his weapon. It would have been smarter to take it apart and let it dry out but somehow that seemed less important at the moment. If anyone came bursting in for whatever reason, the mood he was in would guarantee a neck ripped out anyway, or if they were a bit luckier, he could end their miserable life with his sword, faster for them. Guns weren’t something he necessarily relied on. That was more of Jason’s expertise, though, over the years, he had, indeed, come to begrudgingly see a few benefits to using guns.

 

Damian stripped his shirt off upon reentering the bathroom, crouching in front of Timothy.

 

The other was awake it seemed, and had managed to kick off his boots as they were haphazardly lying out of the shower. One pale hand was pressed against his head wound as he looked out at Damian blearily.

 

Pushing Timothy’s hand away, Damian began looking closer at the head wound. It was bleeding a lot but the wound didn’t look very deep. He checked for signs of swelling or any sunken areas but found none. Ignoring the relief that met with this discovery, Damian tilted Timothy’s chin up and looked into his face.

 

Their gazes locked and Timothy’s blue eyes looked focused.

 

“Are you good?”

 

Damian felt the movement of Timothy’s nod. “The water helps.”

 

Long fingers splayed across Timothy’s face, pushing wet hair to the side. For a moment Damian let his hand stay there, pressed against Timothy’s cheek, but then he shook his head and let it fall away. A low sigh escaped him and Damian narrowed his eyes, reaching back to extract antibiotic ointment from the kit.

 

“How the hell did those two idiots jump you?”

 

Timothy shook his head and grimaced faintly. For a moment it almost seemed he wasn’t going to answer but then he spoke. “I took care of one and two came back at me at once. One cut me and then I got him. The other was too close and disarmed me.” He frowned, his eyebrows dragging together. “Then I fell.”

 

A scoff escaped Damian’s lips and he leaned forward, carefully applying the ointment to the wound.

 

“That’s the last time we split up. Got it? I run, you fucking run.”

 

“Okay,” Timothy said, slightly subdued. A moment of silence passed before Timothy spoke again. “What about the mission objective? Did you get March?”

 

This was the problem that Damian did not want to address right now. On one hand, this was the chance for him to come clean, to tell Timothy that March had gotten away…. But then, like the annoying person that he was, he would likely ask more. Damian didn’t feel like answering the follow-up questions. There was also the very real possibility that Luthor would come to the conclusion that their partnership was a liability if Damian abandoned the mission objective for Timothy.

 

Damian thought hard about the answer. Well, March would most likely be killed sooner or later anyway. He was a Court’s traitor after all, according to the information. And the Court did not do well with traitors. If Damian didn’t kill March this time, someone else would at some point in the future. It was a reasonable assumption.

 

“He’s dead,” Damian finally answered, “now shut up about the mission.” He snapped, gesturing toward Timothy. “Move your head. I need to check the head wound again.”

 

Timothy let out a tiny nod before he had his head tilted forward so Damian could see the wound. Despite how careful Damian was being, as he tended to the main part of the cut Timothy winced suddenly and automatically jerked back a little before he stopped himself. One hand reached up and curled around Damian’s wrist. He didn’t apply any pressure or try to push Damian away; his fingers simply pressed against Damian’s skin. Damian stilled and looked down, meeting Timothy’s eyes again. Timothy’s fingers twitched minutely against Damian’s wrist but he didn’t say anything.

 

His icy blue eyes were caught on Damian; quiet and seeming somehow more intense with his black hair plastered in strings against his cheek and the sheen of water on his skin. Droplets of water ran down the planes of his face, sliding toward his lips and chin.

 

In that moment an image flitted across Damian’s mind; the memory of him pressing Timothy against the wall, panting furiously, their lips only centimeters apart.

 

Damian’s mouth opened slightly, eyebrows drawing together as his gaze flicked down to Timothy’s mouth again. But then the feel of water sluicing down his arm snapped him out of the daze, and he abruptly looked away. He reached over and shut off the water. A few drops fell from the shower head while water tinged pink with blood flowed toward the drain.

 

He backed off and grabbed a thick wad of gauze. “Hold this against the wound.”

 

Timothy’s fingers brushed against Damian’s as he took the gauze with a nod.

 

Damian shook his head, eyes dropping to the blood still seeping from Timothy’s chest.

 

He reached over, intending to rip the already destroyed shirt down the middle but before he could do it, Timothy’s hand suddenly snapped up with a harsh grip on Damian’s wrist. He shoved himself back against the wall as if trying to get away or to put space between them. At the same time, his knees snapped up, putting more of a barrier between the two of them.

 

“No –” Timothy said urgently, his voice seeming to wrench out of him. “Don’t.”

 

Damian looked up in surprise. Normally Timothy’s expressions were subtle or subdued but Damian saw naked fear, nearly terror, in Timothy’s wide eyes and ashen skin. There was a skittish quality to him as if he was one heartbeat away from tearing away from Damian and running out of the room.

 

Baffled by the reaction, Damian could only stare. He had no idea what could have caused such an extreme reaction and for a moment, he felt a flash of impatience. He had no idea how deep the laceration was or how much blood Timothy had lost. They didn’t have time for this shit, not when they were expected at the airport within the next several hours.

 

But the fear in Timothy’s face stopped him.

 

“What if I just rip the part where the wound is?”

 

Even this suggestion seemed to scare Timothy on some level. He remained coiled for a moment, his hand tightening on Damian’s wrist and eyes intense on Damian’s face. After a heart beat or two, he seemed to force himself to relax. He dropped his hand to the shower floor, his fingers curled into a fist braced against the tiles. He tilted his head down slightly so he wasn’t looking Damian in the eye. There was tension in his shoulders still, but he nodded silently.

 

Damian nodded, still watching Timothy contemplatively before he stood. “Let’s go in the other room, you need to get your head elevated.”

 

Timothy pushed himself up, using the wall for balance. He stepped out of the shower and made his way to the outer room. Damian grabbed the medical kit, keeping close behind in case Timothy lost his balance again.

 

The next few moments were spent propping Timothy’s head up with pillows as he stretched out on one of the full sized beds. Damian sat next to him, using his knife to cut Timothy’s already destroyed shirt at an angle that only exposed the very top of his torso and his left shoulder. The gash was deeper than Damian had thought and he shook his head again, mouth pursing in displeasure.

 

“I’m going to stitch this up.”

 

Timothy nodded, tilting his head back against the pillows with eyes that were squeezed shut. His fingers curled into the covers and his chest rose and fell a little more quickly than normal.

 

Time stretched silently for awhile. Damian methodically sewed the wound with the precision of a surgeon. He’d done it often enough to himself to complete the task easily on someone else. But even as his hands moved confidently, closing the gash once he’d cleaned it thoroughly – his mind was churning.

 

Everything was going wrong. The entire partnership had evolved in a way that he would have never possibly imagined. From the start, nothing had gone as he’d expected. He’d never expected to be intrigued by Timothy, or to find anything in common with him. He’d never expected to feel reluctance about allowing Timothy to die, either. He’d definitely never expected to eventually start enjoying Timothy’s company, and especially had not expected this god awful attraction.

 

As soon as he’d noticed Timothy’s features that day in the thrift shop, the entire thing had taken off at a speed he hadn’t been prepared for. He hadn’t been able to stop noticing things about Timothy from that point on, which had manifested into a confusing desire to do... something, that night in his apartment.

 

After finding out that Timothy was bisexual and had been sexually involved with men, the situation had gotten worse. Trying to picture somber, expressionless Timothy without any of his inhibitions had somehow morphed into picturing him losing those inhibitions with Damian. It hadn’t even been something he’d consciously done; the thoughts, the wondering – they’d randomly accosted him and then refused to go away.

 

Scowling deeply, his green eyes flicked over to Timothy’s face.

 

“Don’t fall asleep yet.”

 

One eye peeked open, peering at Damian through long eyelashes. “You have a needle in me,” Timothy said tightly. “I’m not going to sleep.”

 

Damian smirked. “It doesn’t hurt that bad.”

 

Timothy scrunched his face up and closed his eyes again, dropping his head back against the pillows. “It doesn’t feel good.”

 

That couldn’t be argued with so Damian fell silent again as he worked. The nagging feeling that had been plaguing him since he’d gone back to the alley to find Timothy on the ground came back.

 

“I’m... sorry.”

 

Timothy’s eyes opened and he looked at Damian in surprise. His eyes flicked across Damian’s face before he said, “It’s alright. There’s no painless way to stitch a wound like this...”

 

“That’s not what I was talking about.”

 

There was a brief pause. “Then what?”

 

Damian made a face, glancing over at Timothy again. Was he an imbecile or what? “What do you think? If I’d been on top of things, this wouldn’t have happened.”

 

Timothy was quiet a moment, watching Damian with those eyes that had so often seemed silently trained on him. “It’s not your fault. If you hadn’t gotten March, we both would’ve been in trouble. The rest of this...” He gestured to his wounds. “It just happens sometimes.”

 

Unconvinced, Damian just shrugged. He finished stitching the wound, cleaned it up again and applied a bandage. Despite the fact that his wounds were now attended to, Timothy still looked like a mess due to his clothing. They had several hours before they had to meet the League crew who would be transporting them back to Gotham, so Damian reached for the pack with the intention of giving Timothy a fresh pair of clothing. However, it occurred to him that Timothy likely wouldn’t change in front of him for... whatever reason.

 

“If your head is feeling better, you should change,” he said in his usual toneless voice, standing up finally. “We have seven hours before the transport team will expect us, but I wouldn’t advise sleeping right away since we don’t know if you have a concussion.”

 

That being said, Damian turned to walk back to the bathroom.

 

“Damian,” Timothy said suddenly before he got far.

 

Damian paused, turning to look over his shoulder.

 

One of Timothy’s hands was absently touching the stitches peeking out of his ruined shirt. His eyebrows were drawn together and his gaze tracked Damian’s face before settling to meet Damian’s eyes. His expression was sincere when he said, “ _Thank you._ ”

 

They stared at each other for a long moment before Damian just shrugged his shoulders and disappeared into the bathroom to clean up. He stayed in there probably longer than was necessary – detailing the shower and the tiled floors as best as he could to get rid of all traces of blood. Afterward, he showered himself after noticing that streaks of Timothy’s blood had dried to his arms, hands, chest and even his back when he was forced to carry him piggyback style.

 

There was a strong desire to separate himself from Timothy as long as possible. It co-existed with a desire to watch Timothy and make sure he was okay. And it was that unhesitating response, that automatic action of attending to Timothy, which was disturbing him.

 

Why the fuck did he even _care_? It wasn’t like Timothy didn’t have medical training. He knew how to take care of himself, and if he didn’t then he’d be taken out. It was a fact of life. A basic tenet of their lives. Yet here he was, babying him, running through the street in some rush to get him to safety.

 

And that wasn’t even mentioning the actual panic that he’d felt at seeing Timothy sprawled on the filthy cold ground and covered in blood.

 

Damian turned off the water with more force than was necessary and stepped out of the shower. For what felt like the first time in a long time, he looked at himself in the mirror. It was usually something he avoided – he didn’t like being reminded that he was nearly a reflection of his now deceased father. But even so, Damian looked at his own face and tried to figure out what the hell was different. Where had he gone so fucking wrong?

 

When had he become just another weak person?

 

He’d think that years of conditioning himself to not care about other people would have held out longer. He’d think that years of being alienated would make him not as likely to get sucked in. But all it took was genuine interest in him and a smile, and things had slipped out of his control.

 

Shaking his head, Damian turned away.

 

The next few hours passed slowly. They talked from time to time but Damian mostly withdrew. He dropped into a brooding mood and looked out the window silently most of the time, watching for anything out of the ordinary. After a while, he remembered to send in the initial check-in on his panel to say that negotiation had failed but Lincoln March was terminated. It was yet another lie piling on top of another, but right now, Damian simply couldn’t just admit the truth anymore. He had pride. He didn’t like failures even if he couldn’t care less about the League’s missions.

 

He left Timothy alone to doze from time to time, prodding him every once in a while to ensure that he rose easily. In that time Damian wondered what the hell Timothy’s problem was with his shirt. It was entirely possible he’d been delusional due to the head wound but before and after that, he’d seemed fine. It would have been easy to ask but Damian didn’t think he’d get an answer and at the moment, things felt alternatively tense and awkward anyway.

 

By the time they left the motel and met the plane at a private airport outside the city, things had slowly fallen back into a routine. Without the urgency and adrenaline going full force, it was easy to push things aside.

 

After the flight back to Gotham, Timothy was sent to medical directly from transport and Damian was left with the task of writing up the report. By this time it was the middle of the afternoon and his body wanted to rest. He ignored it and typed a bare-bone report that barely included any detail. It was pointless anyway considering they would debrief later that day.

 

Thinking about the debriefing sent an irritated flash through him. It was tempting to blow it off. He hated sitting at the conference table and listening to everyone’s bullshit input. He’d lost interest in the details a long time ago.

 

Sleep came easily enough once he returned to the apartment, and when he woke three hours later it was already nearly evening. Glancing at the clock, Damian wondered if he’d missed the meeting but no such luck.

 

It was a complete chore to drag himself back to the Tower with the throngs of obnoxious staff. It was even worse to sit through the debriefing and listen to them all talk about future options and other possible defectors of the Court. Everyone played their roles well, and not for the first time did Damian wonder if Brown, Cain, and Kane actually had these personalities or if they just acted a part for other people’s benefit. He’d wondered the same thing about Timothy when they first met.

 

Looking over at his partner, Damian noticed that Timothy’s eyes had been on him. They looked at each other briefly before mutually glancing away. After that, Damian kept his eyes on the panel in front of him, or zoned out completely.

 

“Are you with us?” Kent asked him at one point, giving him a flat look when Damian supported his face with one hand, eyeing the wall in front of him blankly.

 

“Sure.”

 

“Don’t let me interrupt your nap,” was the sarcastic reply.

 

“I wouldn’t.”

 

And the debriefing dragged on.

 

By the end he was ready to go back to the safety of his empty apartment where he could try to drown out his extraneous preoccupation with recent developments in peace. He was determined to somehow mentally retrain himself and get back to the place he’d been in before Timothy had come along and complicated everything.

 

But that too was ruined when Timothy stopped him after everyone else filed out of the conference room.

 

Damian looked over his shoulder and turned, facing his partner entirely. He gave him a full once over for the first time since the briefing had started. He was paler than usual, but seemed better.

 

Timothy glanced at the door and then studied Damian a little more closely. “Thanks for waiting,” he said, watching Damian with a thoughtful air. He hesitated and then turned to his messenger bag lying on the table. “I wanted to give you something.”

 

He pushed the flap of the bag up and pulled out something that was rectangular and wrapped in several layers of white tissue paper so Damian couldn’t see what it was. He held it out to Damian, his eyes not leaving Damian’s face.

 

Confused, Damian took the package. It was heavier than he’d expected. “What is it?”

 

“Open it and see,” was all Timothy said.

 

Not entirely knowing what was going on, Damian ripped the paper down the middle. It was a sketchbook with a bland black leather cover and just as Damian was flipping through the pages, touching the new paper, resisting the urge to smell the book, Timothy handed him another one. This time, Damian did not hesitate to tear the wrapper. It was a set of watercolor, the _very_ expensive kind, 200 colors arranged neatly and aesthetically pleasing placed in a rectangular box.

 

Eyebrows shooting up, Damian suddenly looked up at Timothy. “You’re giving these to me? Why?” He asked warily.

 

Timothy shrugged, looking down at the book. “There was… a time when I wanted to try painting, but I never got the chance before…” Timothy bit down on his bottom lip. “When I saw how much you appreciate art, I thought these would be better in your hands. Don’t worry, they were never opened.” He reached out, his fingers brushing the cover of the sketchbook. The movement must have pulled at the stitches because his lips thinned briefly, but when he looked up at Damian again there was only interest in his eyes.

 

He dropped his hand at his side and shrugged again, seemingly absently. “Anyway, I wanted to give it to you as a thank you.”

 

Trying to figure out what to say and completely failing, Damian looked down at the sketchbook and the watercolor. He felt simultaneously awkward, baffled and... pleased. Both of these gifts were something he would appreciate. He hadn’t painted in years ever since the League decided to separate Richard, Jason and him. There was no one who would indulge in his habit and he would never ask the ‘stock boy’ to get him these. Drawing was one of his preferred hobbies. But aside from that –

 

Damian cut the thought off sharply. “Why do you keep thanking me?”

 

“Because –” Timothy stopped, his eyebrows drawing together. “Because you’re nice to me. And you listened when I...” He gestured to his shirt, looking highly uncomfortable. “You could have forced me and you didn’t. And I...” He hesitated. “I appreciate that.”

 

“Oh.” Damian stared at him and then back down at the book again. “I see.” If Timothy was underwhelmed by Damian’s response, he didn’t show it or look surprised. There was a pause and then Timothy turned and flipped his bag closed. “Well, I’m going to leave. I have some errands I have to run today.” He put the strap of the empty bag over one shoulder and turned toward the door. “I’ll see you later.”

 

There was a moment where Damian struggled with an appropriate response. He had none. This was a situation he had never been in. But he opened his mouth anyway, to at least say goodbye, when his cell phone vibrated against the pocket of his pants.

 

Caught off guard, the moment passed and Damian ended up not speaking at all as Timothy left the room.

 

Irritated, Damian took the call without even looking at the caller ID.

 

“What?” he growled.

 

“Problem, Wayne?”

 

Damian paused and glanced down at the gifts in his hands. He had a sudden desire to cover them up again as if Marshal Luthor could see it through the phone. There was an instinctive part of Damian that didn’t want Luthor to know that he and Timothy got along now. He couldn’t explain it, but it wouldn’t go away.

 

“No,” he snapped. “What do you want?”

 

“You, in my office, in twenty minutes,” was the chilly reply. “You’re being sent out within the hour.”

 

The call ended and Damian slid the phone back into his pocket. Whatever he figured out to say to Timothy, it would have to wait. With a low sigh, Damian left the conference room and headed to his building to drop off the sketchbook and paints reluctantly. It too would have to wait until his mission was over.

 

Feeling inexplicably gloomy, Damian wondered who he would be assassinating now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Next chapter:**
> 
> Conner “Kon” Grummett  
> Occupation: None  
> Status: Deceased  
> Birth: 3/14/2048  
> Death: 7/19/2064


	16. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy birthday to me! Years ago, I was unleashed on the unsuspecting population lol And happy belated birthday to the first dead Boy Wonder, Jason Todd XD I wuv you u w u
> 
> Several things I need to say before I let you guys read in peace. And please, do heed my words.
> 
> 1/ This chapter is not for the faint of heart. It's going to be as bloody as chapter 13. And thrice as painful. So, prepare tissues (I think...) or a pillow, in case you need to scream. I'll be standing waiting at the end of the chapter to duck flying projectiles coming my way.
> 
> 2/ Your suffering is my birthday present XD So, please, do read this slowly and, just, _feel._
> 
> 3/ This chapter contains a shift in POV. Yes, I'm aware that can be jarring to read two POVs in the same chapter. But it's very needed. You will see why later. In the future, I will try to limit this shift as best as I can <3
> 
> 4/ As I have announced before, the next week will be a week with **two** updates in a week. One will be on **August, 23rd** and the next one will be on **August, 27th**. At the end of the second update there will be one more announcement, so make sure you read that, too :3c
> 
> Without further delay, let's begin this masochistic feast. I'll see you at the end, guys *winks*

 

It was the end of June and Damian was _mortified_ to find that someone had made it their life mission to start putting up decoration around the compound, celebrating yet another year of success for the League. Perhaps they had thought that if they strung up brightly colored balloons around the place, this would seem less like a life–sucking void and more like a normal job.

 

If so, they had failed, miserably.

 

Pink ceiling balloons in the weaponry did not make for a welcoming environment.

 

Standing in front of the door to his apartment, Damian stared at a little piece of paper that someone had stuck to his door. The printed letters said: “All employees are formally invited to the League’s party this Friday–” Damian blanked out at that. He studied the invitation, finally noticing that it was stuck on his door by a glittery piece of cut–out paper the shape of a star. And someone had drawn a winking face on the star.

 

Damian searched his memories for the word.

 

“Glitter sticker.” Damian’s lips moved with the words and pulled the invitation off. It didn’t register in his brain for a few seconds.

 

The guards who stood on either side of his door had been ignoring him until that point when one of them snorted out a laugh.

 

Damian began to shred the invitation to pieces. He did not know what had possessed someone to stick this to his door, of all doors, but he found it mildly offensive. Did they think that by sticking this on his door, using ‘glitter sticker’, they would make him hate his job less?

 

He tossed it on the floor and swiped his card key in the door, opening it and entering his apartment. After his solo assassination assignment, there had been a lull in missions. He didn’t have any problems with admitting that he was bored. In the past month and a half, he had participated in a grand total of three missions and none of them had been very exciting. He spent most of his time exercising, reading or roaming the compound when he was alone.

 

He’d begun leaving his quarters more often lately and he wasn’t entirely sure why. He thought maybe it was because most of the other agents had grown almost used to his presence. It may have also been because he would frequently spend time with Timothy.

 

Damian walked across his apartment and leaned against the wall so that he could stare out the window. A few months ago, he used to sit in the dark for hours while his mind remained perfectly blank in an almost meditative state. His sole purpose had been for killing and for avoiding the box. He hadn’t cared or had an interest in much else other than that. He’d had no desire to be around or to speak to anyone else. For the most part, that hadn’t changed.

 

Except, of course, when it came to Timothy. His preoccupation with his partner had not diminished at all in the past month. If anything, it had grown.

 

He found himself thinking about Timothy at odd times, even often wondering what he was doing when they were not together. When Damian exercised or when he grew bored with that and sat staring into space for hours, he found himself wondering what Timothy did in his spare time. What he read or did to get through the long hours of the day that were filled with silence and inactivity. He wondered if Timothy went out, if he spoke to people outside the League. Most of all, he wondered if Timothy wondered these things about him.

 

Damian didn’t particularly like this new, needy aspect to his personality.

 

In fact, it was a little disgusting. Still, no one else seemed to notice the change within him and to everyone other than Timothy he was as coldly sarcastic as ever.

 

He slid down the wall and sat on the floor, staring into space silently. It wasn’t only the sudden interest in his partner that alarmed him, however. It was more startling that he’d begun to act differently when they were together.

 

There were times when his gaze would linger on Timothy longer than was necessary; when his eyes would focus on Timothy’s mouth or eyes. There were times when he would sit alone and think about how odd it was to desire someone after so many years of not even knowing what that would feel like. There were other times when he would think about the mission in Seattle and the feel of Timothy’s bare skin underneath his hands.

 

Damian closed his eyes and tilted his head against the wall, irritation bubbling to the surface.

 

He was doing it again. Thinking about Drake.

 

He’d begun reminding himself nightly that he was behaving extremely out of character. He was a killer. He’d been trained to be one since he was a toddler and that was the only thing he was good at. He had had enough trouble even learning how to have a normal conversation without thinking Timothy would use any information for devious purposes. What would he even do if he decided to focus on this completely random attraction?

 

Damian ran his fingers along the carpet idly. He was relieved that Timothy had been called away on a solo assignment to meet up with Queen Bee. It allowed him some time to sort out the confusion that constantly clouded his brain.

 

His lips quirked up into a sour smile as he recalled the brief meeting with Kent before Timothy had left. Apparently, Bee would only agree to the meeting if Damian was not there. She wanted nothing to do with ‘ _that animal._ ’ The words didn’t bother him but the idea of Timothy going off on his own did. It was the first time Timothy had a solo mission of any kind with no backup in the vicinity. What would happen if Bee had turned on them, and decided to take Timothy hostage or kill him to get out of the deal?

 

He hadn’t voiced the concerns out loud, not seeing the good it would do since no one would listen to him anyway. Brown, however, had done it for him. She’d complained loudly that at least Damian should accompany Timothy even if he didn’t actually go to the meeting. Kent had said there was no point and by now Timothy should be able to hold his own.

 

It was true, but the entire thing still made him, and apparently Brown, uneasy. The thought reminded Damian of something else, something that he’d noticed and completely forgotten immediately after finding out that Timothy was going alone. Before the briefing had started, Brown had pulled Timothy aside. Damian, in a fit of annoyance and curiosity, had listened in. It turned out that Brown asked Timothy if July 19th was his birthday.

 

The concept of a birthday was alien to Damian that he had blanked out for a whole second. In his memories, Damian vaguely remembered Richard congratulate him and bring him sweets or drawing supplies whenever it was his birthday. However, Damian had long since putting ‘remembering his own birthday’ a priority. It was startling to be reminded that Timothy might be one of those people that probably want... blessings when the day came by. Somehow he doubted it but at the same time, he had trouble dismissing the date from his mind.

 

His eyes wandered over to the sketchbook that Timothy had given him, half filled with drawings by now. He had studied the sketchbook for hours before he even decided to put his first sketch down on the smooth paper. One thing he had discovered that the sketchbook was not newly bought as he first assumed it to be. It was new in the sense that it had not been used, but there was an odd stain on the cover, too long ago for Damian to properly identify it. That fact alone helped Damian determine that Timothy probably had it for a while now. And still, he had decided to... gift it to Damian as a thank–you. It occurred to him that he could get Timothy a present but the idea seemed absurd.

 

For one, it wouldn’t do anything to change his ridiculous fixation with Timothy and the idea wasn’t doing anything but feeding into it. And two, he’d have to sneak out of the compound. The sneaking out wasn’t actually the problem – the wandering around trying to find a present before the League came hunting him down was.

 

He banished the thought for the moment and walked over to the kitchen, making a dinner for himself out of chocolate chip cookies and instant oatmeal. He stared at the sink blankly and automatically ate, attempting to adopt his old meditative mind frame and failing when his thoughts wandered right back to Timothy’s birthday.

 

Even if he were to get Timothy a gift of some sort, which he _wasn’t_ , he had no idea what he would get. It occurred to him that other than the fact that he knew Timothy enjoyed photography, he knew next to nothing about his ‘partner’. It nagged at him for a moment and he rationalized that it was because Timothy seemed to somehow know quite a bit about him.

 

He liked to be on equal footing with the people around him and he was on anything but that with Timothy. He barely knew anything about his background or life before coming to the League. Damian had the opportunity to read Timothy’s file long ago but he’d never intended to maintain the partnership so he’d barely glanced at it. He didn’t have access to the files anymore but he knew someone who did.

 

Once the idea took root, it refused to let him free until Damian tossed the now empty package in the garbage and stood up.

 

When he walked out, the guards no longer ignored him like before. “Where are you going?” Daniel, the guard, asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

 

“Out. Why do you care?” Damian asked back, posturing shifting defensively.

 

“I don’t. I’m just bored.” Daniel said. Lately, it was how they started treating him once they realized the absence of the bloodthirsty rampages they had been hearing so much about. Daniel gave him a once over, lips thinning at the outfit Damian picked. “It’s one digit degree outside today.” He said as if it would mean something to Damian.

 

Damian looked at him blankly.

 

Daniel shook his head. “Forget I said anything.” He said.

 

Damian fully intended to do just that. He made his way to the Complex C, ignoring the cold air that stung his face and seeping through his thin clothes. The guards at the Residential Building gave him a harder time than his guards did but in the end, there was no reason for them to forbid Damian from going. Damian ditched the elevator and instead, opted for the stairs, going two steps at a time until he reached the fifteen floor in less than ten minutes.

 

Standing in front of the door, Damian took notice of the hideous ‘glitter sticker’ and the invitation that was taped on it as well. He took the liberty to destroy the thing, again before knocking on the door.

 

Someone from within the apartment shouted, “Coming!” There were clattering noises before the door swung open without much delay.

 

He was surprised that an agent, even a non–combative one, would be so careless as to open their door without so much as pausing to look through the peephole. Although he supposed, maybe it was better that way. He didn’t particularly enjoy the idea of standing in the hallway, trying to explain why he was there or dealing with anyone’s overactive paranoia.

 

Brown stood in her doorway in an oversized eggplant t–shirt that went down past her knees. Her hair was tied up in a messy bun and she had a can of soda in one hand. She stared at Damian with an expression that could only be described as agape.

 

“Dami!”

 

Damian raised an eyebrow at the usage of his nickname.

 

Brown’s face reddened. “Er – Damian.”

 

He raised the other eyebrow.

 

“Dami?” Brown asked in confusion.

 

Damian gave her an unimpressed look before pushing past her to get inside her apartment, not waiting for a formal invitation. “I need your access card,” He stated once she closed the door behind them.

 

“Um... What?” Brown asked. “That’s not... like... _allowed_ ,” she said, scratching the back of her hair, messing up the bun even more than before. She looked baffled and conflicted. It annoyed Damian immensely. “What do you even want it for though?”

 

Damian silently held out his hand, remaining on his ground.

 

“Well... Are you going to give it back?” Brown asked finally, eyebrows drawing together.

 

Damian supposed that it was very fortunate that Brown would most likely never be questioned by an enemy if this was the extent of her resistance. “Shortly. I need access to personnel files. The entire ones, not the superficial version. I don’t have the access code for that.” He stated flatly.

 

Brown opened her mouth to question him further but the expression on Damian’s face shut it instantly and she settled for just looking extremely curious. “Uh… well, _I guess_. My access code is um…” She looked mildly embarrassed. “5p01LeR.” She pulled the card out of her pocket and handed it to Damian. “But first may I – Hey!”

 

Damian was striding out of the apartment before Brown had a chance to complete her sentence. He took the stairs once again and determined that this building was designed identically to every other residential building. Which meant that there was most likely a public computer lab and lounge area on the third floor. He was pleased to realize that he was correct, and even more pleased to see that it was entirely empty. He took a seat at the back of the lab and swiped Brown’s card, waiting for the screen to load.

 

It welcomed Stephanie Brown and asked for the access code. Damian punched it in and stared at the screen for several moments before figuring out how to get to the area of the database that he wanted. His own access card was limited to unlocking specific public areas of the compound unless they temporarily increased his access. Even then it was limited to accessing mission files that he was specifically involved in.

 

Brown, on the other hand, apparently had free run of the entire database. He typed in Timothy’s name and found the folder instantly. There were sub–folders within it and he took his time, going through all of them. He checked all of the files and images of certificates from academic awards and contests that Timothy had received throughout the years. Damian noted that Timothy had tested out of high school early and was proven to be more intelligent than average, skipping to college courses at the age of 15. Damian had never been to traditional school himself but he figured that was fairly impressive.

 

He only skimmed through the information about Janet Drake but took his time reading about Jack Drake, a journalist and aspiring author who had perished during the bombings in New York City while covering the story.

 

There was an entire sub–folder dedicated to Timothy’s father, and Damian read every document and went through every sub–folder. He was curious about the type of person who would marry and have a child with the Inspector, who seemed even less likely to be capable of intimacy than Damian was himself.

 

It seemed like Jack Drake had done well for himself in his young life. He’d gotten a position at a good newspaper fairly young and went on to dedicate his short career to focusing on political intrigue. He’d done a surprising amount of investigative work considering he was fairly early in his career, but apparently, some of his first stories had blown the top off a lot of scandals and impressed a fair share of important people.

 

There was a video attached to one of the files, and Damian started to bypass it before pausing. After a moment he decided that he was curious enough to watch and opened the file.

 

In the video, the camera was at an angle from the corner of a closed room, catching the back half of the person doing the interviewing. All Damian could see was a woman’s brown hair that had turned largely grey, pulled back in a complicated braid rolled into a bun. She had a clipboard in front of her and a pen in her hand. Damian couldn’t see much of what was written on the sheets of paper but he did see that she’d been making notes.

 

A man whom Damian assumed was Jack sat across the table from her.

 

He was young, maybe in his mid-twenties, and wore a plain black shirt under a slightly ill–fitting jacket. His brown eyes were alert and far darker than Timothy’s icy blue ones, but their shapes were similar. He was a little older than Timothy was now and some similarities could be seen. Still, where Timothy was lean with remarkable blue eyes, Jack had a stockier build and none of the androgyny that his son would grow to have. All that they seemed to share was the shape of their eyes and their black hair.

 

It quickly became apparent to Damian that this was an interview for an internship, and that Jack Drake was still in college. He seemed to alternate between an easygoing demeanor and seeming nervous as he tried to do his best in the interview. He kept straightening his back after seemingly realizing he’d started to slouch. Although a genuine smile easily lent itself to Jack’s lips, his eyes had a haunted quality to them that wasn’t uncommon at that time, not long after the war had started.

 

The interview started with a few questions that were only partially interesting.

 

The woman asked Jack about his qualifications. He mentioned about the multiple awards that he had been the recipient of, including on in Canada that allowed him to travel to Europe for a week to attend a press conference. He also mentioned about an exchange program in France. The woman’s face had seemed to tilt in interest at that.

 

The woman then asked a few other cursory questions. She noticed that according to his resume, much of his earlier schooling was in Canada and France, so why was he in the United States now? He’d mentioned the nearby university and how he’d wanted to take some classes there. She asked about how it was better than an education in Canada or France and he said a lot of it had come down to personal choices for where he and his wife would raise a family.

 

Damian, who had been zoning out for awhile, was pulled sharply back to reality at that statement.

 

The woman in the video gave Jack Drake a strange look at that. “You have a family?” she asked doubtfully.

 

For the first time, all shadows of nervousness disappeared from Jack’s face.

 

He broke into a wide grin, looking proud with a faint flush to his face that hadn’t been there before. “I do,” he said happily, leaning forward and pulling out his wallet. “Do you want to see? My boy was just born a few months ago. I have a beautiful wife and an adorable son – despite everything that’s happened, I feel like the luckiest man alive.”

 

He pulled out a picture but the woman held her hand up. “That won’t be necessary.” Her tone was curt but not cruel. Still, there was a definite note of disapproval when she continued, “We are only interested in serious applicants that may grow to become full-time members in the future. However, we have multiple locations and the very nature of our more enterprising journalists requires travel. If you were to get the internship and if you were to be hired full-time after you graduated, what would this mean about the possibility of relocation in the future?”

 

Jack looked down at the picture in his hands and smiled. It was an enigmatic look that seemed neither happy nor sad. “I would love to have this internship, and one of my dreams is to work at the Gotham Gazette. I want nothing more than to have the chance to be part of this organization and represent journalism the way it was meant to be.”

 

He looked up and met her eyes, his expression set. “But for all that, my family comes _first_. I could go on trips or do short stints in other places but I can’t move. My wife came with me when I went to France and we just recently settled down to have Timmy. My son needs as much stability as he can get as he grows up. Especially with war at our doorstep. I would give anything for this position, but I won’t give up my family’s needs.They’re too important to me.”

 

There was a beat of silence as the woman stared directly at him and he returned the stare, unwavering. She sniffed and looked down at her clipboard, making several notes. It was hard to tell whether she was approving or disapproving of Jack’s response. He seemed a little uncertain about the reception himself but he didn’t take it back. His fingers lingered on the picture before he pushed it back in his wallet and returned the wallet to his back pocket.

 

“What area of interest do you have for the paper?” the woman asked without looking up.

 

“Politics,” Jack said without hesitation.

 

“In what way?”

 

“I want to expose corruption.” Jack leaned forward against the table, his brown eyes intent. “Did you know that in the last twenty years, nearly fifty percent of the people in Congress have been proven to be corrupt or have taken part in criminal scandals on some level? So many people are completely disingenuous. They promise one thing and then get into office and do the opposite. All these ‘family men’ who cheat on their wives and rape young men make me sick. The worst part is so often the proof of that and of other scandals goes missing or gets buried. The apparent inability for grown adults to take responsibility for their own actions is astounding.”

 

He shook his head, clearly disgusted. As he got more into his response, his hands started moving around to emphasize points and ideas. “Money, power, famous names... So many people in office take advantage of the system and twist it all to their own benefit. That isn’t right. And nearing fifty percent corruption is not only insane, it’s pathetic. I want to have the chance to expose the truth, based on actual facts rather than opinions. I want to look into political corruption, especially at a time like now with the war underway and all these questions in the air. If I had my way, eventually it may be interesting to do comparisons to other countries. The US could stand to be improved in a number of ways. Maybe there could be an article that alternated showing the truth and showing how it could be done.”

 

The interview continued for awhile longer with Jack expounding on his view of politics, government, and how things could be improved upon. Rather than seeming critical, he seemed genuinely interested in the topic and seemed to view it almost as a cultural study of the world. He started to cite examples of comparisons of actions governments had taken and consequences that could directly or indirectly be tied back to them.

 

He mentioned that one of the biggest problems he’d noticed with governments, in general, was that they all seemed utterly incapable or uninterested in admitting their own wrongs. That, he said, was why he was so interested in revealing political corruption; because when left on its own, the situation would never be revealed. Or, if it was, it would be skewed by the opinions of the people reporting it. There was a passion and intensity to him that showed he could devote himself fully to an idea and would have the energy to see it through.

 

The interview continued with some more back and forth questions. After fifteen minutes it concluded with the woman telling Jack Drake she would be in touch with him. When Jack stood to leave, he smiled and thanked her for her time. He shook her hand with enthusiasm and seemed genuinely pleased to have had the opportunity for the interview, regardless of how it would turn out. When he left the room, the woman leaned back in the chair and tapped the pen against the side of the clipboard while she stared thoughtfully at the door. She made a soft, contemplative noise in the back of her throat and then stood to turn off the camera.

 

The screen went blank.

 

Damian stared at the screen for a moment before shaking his head.

 

Jack Drake was the antithesis of everything _League_. Of everything _Janet Drake_ for that matter. It was bizarre that two such different people had been together. It was also highly ironic, especially considering that if Jack Drake had continued on the path he’d been on he’d have likely been on the League’s radar for all of the wrong reasons.

 

In addition to that, it was now even harder to picture the idealistic young man in the video as someone who would ever marry someone like Inspector Drake. Perhaps she hadn’t always been such a stone cold bitch.

 

Somehow, he found it unlikely.

 

Then again, he had no idea how normal families functioned or how people formed relationships. The extent of his knowledge in that area stemmed from watching his father courting every attractive human that passed him and his elder brothers having flings or having sex with each other. Somehow, Damian doubted that was how people acted around their families.

 

Damian went back to his research and found a sub–folder labeled Conner ‘Kon’ Grummett. It seemed like an anomaly and Damian clicked it, baffled as to why some random individual was included. He barely glanced at the main document before moving on to the others, wondering about the connection to Timothy or the Drake family.

 

After a few moments of perusing it, he realized that Grummett was a childhood friend of Timothy. His parents had been liberal politicians before the war and they’d both perished during the bombings that came after it.

 

There were several police reports and mug shots of the teen. It appeared that after his parent’s death he’d begun to participate in petty crime as a means of survival.

 

There were several stills of surveillance videos on city streets that depicted him and Timothy walking together, his arm thrown casually around Timothy’s shoulders most of the time. Damian studied the images and noted that although the teenaged Timothy in the images had begun to adopt his usual style of all black attire and a generally serious expression, his eyes were much more animated than they were now and his mouth was often spread across his face in a smile.

 

Damian’s eyes narrowed slightly and he stared at this ‘Kon’ person with a slight frown.

 

He had a tall, gangly body, short black hair, and grey–blue eyes that seemed to look at the world in the same defensive glare Damian was used to seeing on Timothy’s face. He was attractive and had a devil may care quality to his body language and clothing style in the images.

 

The dates on the images were as recent as four years ago, which meant that Timothy was most likely still acquainted with the boy. The idea made Damian frown further. He wondered why Timothy had never mentioned a childhood friend hanging around. What did this person think about Timothy joining the League – did he even know? That actually brought to mind another question that Damian had wondered about recently – what cover story did Timothy use on the outside world, anyway?

 

He idly flipped through files as he tried to find recent data on the mysterious teen. His search came up short and he made a face at the computer before going back to the main document on Grummett.

 

Conner “Kon” Grummett

Occupation: None

Status: Deceased

Birth: 3/14/2048

Death: 7/19/2064

 

The information made Damian pause. That was a very abrupt end to a relatively healthy teenager. Still, it could have been the lung disease that had taken the lives of many young people back in that time period. Damian’s fingers tapped against the table lightly while he mused on the possibilities.

 

_Interesting._

 

It certainly required more investigation. Damian backed out of the sub–file and began to search for more information. Frustratingly enough, there was nothing to be found. Determined to get to the root of the problem, Damian went back out all the way to the main folder and began to shift through each and every sub–folder until he came across police–hospital surveillance. Damian’s eyes narrowed. Without hesitance, he clicked on the folder, pouring over them with an intensity he usually reserved for harder missions.

 

It seemed that Timothy had been involved in a mugging where he had been injured. The very same mugging had also taken Conner Grummett’s life away. Further reading described an incompetent and crooked police department who did very little to arrest the attackers.

 

A follow-up report noted that Timothy’s wound had not been fatal and he hadn’t had any damage to major organs. However, he returned to the hospital a few days later with severe chest and stomach trauma from numerous stab wounds. This return had resulted in a splenectomy since the damage on his spleen had been too severe and the doctors had to prioritize saving Timothy’s life over the organ.

 

The note after this second report had told of the Inspector’s insistence that the injuries had been from another attack. Even so, Timothy’s despondency and instability had hinted otherwise. Barely a day after he’d been released from his first, he had shown up at another hospital due to an obvious suicide attempt. This information gave Damian a real pause and he stared at the screen contemplatively.

 

His mind jumped back to the mission in Seattle – Timothy’s bleary insistence that his shirt remained on despite his injuries. Damian pictured the frightened look on Timothy’s face at the idea of his torso being exposed. Was this why? If he’d had severe stab wounds, there would be scars unless Inspector Drake had paid to have them removed. Although he supposed, that was entirely possible. It was also possible that Timothy simply didn’t like the vulnerability of being naked when he was barely conscious. It was a sentiment that made sense.

 

The hospital report noted that it had been recommended for Timothy to receive additional psychiatric help but there were no further reports. It seemed that Timothy had been taken out of the hospital early and had never returned. There were no further reports or follow ups by authorities and it seemed for one reason or another, they’d decided to stop investigating.

 

Damian’s fingers tapped against the table impatiently again, lips pulling back in an annoyed huff. There had to be more information somewhere. He scowled and looked at a couple of other files before coming to another video clip. It was also inside the surveillance folder and was labeled “First Bank–07192064.”

 

Once again, Damian clicked on the video. There was no sound but the video quality was excellent. It was a nice day. A little bit of water was still trickling along the gutters from a recent rain. The sun was bright behind a layer of the ever–present ash that blanketed the sky. The sun was intense enough that it lightened the dull grey to an almost white. A sign hung just in the lower portion of the screen, proclaiming ‘First Bank’ in bold letters.

 

Damian immediately recognized the street the surveillance camera was taping. It was outside First Bank on Dauphin Street in Bludhaven neighborhood. The area that Timothy seemed so intent on avoiding and the street where he’d reacted so strongly on that first mission.

 

For almost a whole minute, nothing happened. If it wasn’t for the fact that his curiosity was forcing him to stay behind, Damian would have clicked off the video. Then, from the corner of the screen, two figures slowly walked into the frame from the side.

 

One of them, the shorter one, was unmistakably Timothy. He seemed to be a few years younger than when he first met Damian. The other one was Conner Grummett, Damian recognized him from the shots he had seen of Timothy’s childhood friend. Standing side by side, Grummett appeared to be taller than Timothy, though not by much and he was much more filled out than Timothy. There were still traces of long awkward limbs of a teenager left behind but it appeared that once Grummett grew up, such traces would be long gone.

 

Damian couldn’t hear anything they were saying but there was no mistaking the way Grummett’s hand kept trailing along Timothy’s skin. As they passed an alley, Grummett suddenly tugged Timothy into it and turned him so they were facing each other. There was an exciting grin on Grummett’s face before he pulled out, from the tattered backpack, a clumsily wrapped gift. His mouth moved again but from this angle, it was even a more impossible task to read his lips. Whatever he said made Timothy take the package though and after a few moments, Timothy tore the paper away.

 

He held up the item.

 

Damian sucked in a sharp breath in surprise.

 

It was a very familiar black leather sketchbook, and – Damian didn’t even need a confirmation. He knew, and he knew that he was _right_ , the leather sketchbook in Timothy’s hand was the same one that he had been gifted with. There were a million questions running through his mind right now. The foremost question was –

 

Grummett cupped Timothy’s cheek in a surprisingly tender grip. Timothy’s eyes darted around as if searching for witnesses and before he could protest, Grummett had leaned in, capturing Timothy’s lips in a kiss that cut off any words of disagreement. Timothy’s stiff back gradually loosened and soon their jaws were working as the kiss deepened. His hands moved up Grummett’s back while Grummett buried his hand in Timothy’s black hair and wrapped his other arm around his waist.

 

The video froze in place as Damian automatically paused it, more out of shock than anything else. His eyes were focused on the two boys, their lips and the placement of their hands. For a moment, his breath caught and he swallowed hard.

 

Some distant part of him told him to shut it off. Timothy wouldn’t want him to see this. Why was it even here? Why was this intimate moment captured in time? But he found himself incapable of stopping it now that he’d started watching. His mind drifted back to the conversation at the diner, about how Timothy had once been intimate with someone else. Was this... ‘ _Kon_ ’ Timothy’s lover? Stupid question. _Of course,_ he was.

 

Damian forced himself to breathe.

 

The video un–paused.

 

Grummett’s hips rolled against Timothy’s and soon they were moving against each other, their actions growing more intense. Timothy pulled away from the kiss to tilt his head back, his mouth falling open and eyes sliding shut; his cheeks flushed as he clutched at Conner. Grummett, for his part, moved down Timothy’s jaw and sucked on his throat.

 

Timothy was saying something, his lips moving increasingly urgently. His hands slid up and then gripped Grummett’s shoulders, shifting from trying to pull him closer to trying to push him away. Grummett seemed uninterested in complying and Timothy’s knees seemed to buckle as Grummett’s mouth moved to the place where Timothy’s neck met his shoulder.

 

Even without sound, Timothy’s curse was unmistakable. His expression was partially pained, partially ecstatic as his head was pushed back against the brick wall. There was nothing of the blank–faced, terminally controlled boy that Damian was used to seeing. This Timothy seemed passionate and caught up in the moment.

 

In the end, Timothy won. He was able to push Grummett away and the two of them stood panting, hands still on each other, faces tilting forward until their foreheads touched. Damian couldn’t see their expressions with their faces so close together but he did see them move in for a few short kisses. Their hands roamed over each other’s body languidly before they finally pulled apart.

 

Timothy turned to leave the alley and Grummett’s hand slid from his elbow down along his forearm to end at his hand. For a moment they walked with their fingers intertwined, Timothy leading the way with his arm stretched back and Grummett moving in closer behind him.

 

When they got back out onto the main street, they seemingly reluctantly released their hands and started down the street again.

                                                                                                                          

Shortly after, they both seemed to hesitate. A sound must have caught their attention because at first, Damian didn’t see anything. Then he saw the five teenagers strolling into view. They had the sort of slouching stride that was prevalent among the thugs who roamed the street. It was obvious that they were in a gang; each wore a green bandana in some fashion. The tallest of them glanced at the others with barely a nod of his head, but the four seemed to understand.

 

Without saying a word the group closed in on the two ahead of them. At the sight of them, Grummett muttered something to Timothy and looked irritated. Timothy just looked confused and a little concerned when the gang members moved closer. The tallest male had brown, slightly oily hair that fell into his eyes. Judging by the way he held himself and the way the other four kept glancing at him, he was in charge. He called out something to Timothy and Grummett and the arrogance in the way he tilted his head was clearly visible.

 

Grummett shot something back, his expression mocking. Timothy stood at his side, his eyes darting around between the teenagers and the exits he and Grummett still had. He was gripping the sketchbook in his hands so tightly his skin looked bloodless. He said something to Grummett but whatever he said, Grummett ignored it and continued to stare down the other five.

 

What followed were several minutes of arguments. The leader had the other gang members fan out and surround Timothy and Grummett. The leader punched Grummett in the face and the fight began. The leader and Grummett clearly had some kind of history that had resulted in animosity between the two. The leader repeatedly mocked him and, at times, Timothy, who visibly grew increasingly alarmed as everything progressed.

 

Two of the teenagers held Timothy between them, making Timothy drop the sketchbook that had just been given to him minutes ago while the leader and another stayed by Grummett. The youngest kid seemed uncomfortable and soon turned to be the lookout. He only occasionally looked behind him at the others.

 

The minutes that followed consisted of the five boys beating Grummett and Timothy mercilessly although most of the violence appeared to focus on Grummett. Whatever vendetta the leader had against Conner Grummett seemed particularly severe. He seemed intent on making him suffer, and when it became obvious that Grummett was more disturbed by the violence that was being inflicted on Timothy, the leader used it to his advantage. Timothy and Grummett called out to each other at times, desperation to get to each other obvious in their faces. The leader only seemed to become more disgusted by the spectacle and continued mock them. Damian couldn’t understand most of it but he clearly read the word _‘faggot’_ on the leader’s lips.

 

At some point, a boot slammed into Grummett’s mouth and Damian had no doubts that teeth were knocked out or broken. The violence only advanced from there and after watching Timothy struggle once again to get to his friend, the leader’s expression soured.

 

He shouted an order and Timothy was yanked upright between two of the other teens. At first, Damian thought the leader would advance on Timothy but instead, he turned to Grummett.

 

Timothy’s eyes widened in horror and he began struggling anew as he seemed to beg the leader to let them go. The leader ignored him and went over to Grummett who was still struggling in vain. It wasn’t until they were at a particular angle that Damian saw the knife glinting in the leader’s hand. That must have been what frightened Timothy so much.

 

Without any hesitation, the leader slammed the knife into Grummett’s side. Grummett’s shirt quickly stained with blood, and he appeared to shout in pain. Timothy seemed to freeze in shock, tears tracking down his face. Damian could read the words ‘ _no_ ’ and ‘ _Kon_ ’ and ‘ _help us_ ’ on his lips.

 

The lookout was turned toward the camera, and the highly uncomfortable way he looked at Grummett and Timothy was clearly seen. The other gang members just seemed amused.

 

Timothy was struggling vehemently now, throwing himself forward like a dog gone insane and surging at the end of his leash. He was screaming at the leader, who didn’t even flinch. The leader’s mouth spread into a twisted smile as he reared the knife back again and slammed it deep into Grummett’s stomach. Grummett’s mouth dropped open and his eyes rolled.

 

Timothy was able to twist and jerk until he got away. Damian thought it seemed as though the two holding him were playing with him and let go of him on purpose to make him think for a moment he had a chance to react. He ran at the leader but they easily caught him by the shirt and jerked him back so abruptly he looked like he was half choked by the movement.

 

The two gang members fell on him with casual violence; hitting him and throwing him back and forth between them as they traded blows on him. He fell to the ground and they kept kicking and punching him until he collapsed. One of the two teenagers holding him sneered and flipped Timothy onto his stomach. He sat down on Timothy’s back, making him unable to move. The other one grabbed Timothy’s hair, yanking his head back at an angle so that he could see what was happening to his friend.

 

With Grummett’s blood staining the ground just in front of his eyes, Timothy seemed incapable of looking away. Grummett barely seemed alive by this point and the blood seemed to be flowing steadily from his wounds. Timothy looked devastated and Damian read on his lips that he kept murmuring ‘ _no_ ’, ‘ _I’m sorry._ ’, ‘ _let him go_ ’, and ‘ _please_ ’.

 

The leader stared down at Timothy in disgust. He said something, punctuating his words with another attack. He plunged the knife into Grummett’s stomach again, then yanked it out and repeated the action. Blood flew everywhere, spraying in arcs around Grummett, splattering the leader.

 

Grummett collapsed completely on the ground, convulsions violently taking over his body. He could not seem to control any of his actions, but he did not look away from Timothy. Grummett choked and gagged, his mouth working uselessly as blood poured out. He struggled and extended one arm weakly toward Timothy, trying to reach him.

 

The leader snapped something and jerked Grummett up by the hair. A gold chain with a ring on it fell out of Grummett’s shirt. Blood had coated parts of it, but the leader casually tore it from Grummett’s neck and stuffed it in his pocket. He turned and nodded at the two holding Timothy, who stabilized his head so he could do nothing but watch in wide–eyed hysteria as the leader finished what he started. Yanking the knife clear across Grummett’s throat, the leader destroyed Grummett’s throat so terribly it was almost unrecognizable as a human neck.

 

Without losing the momentum, he followed it up by slamming the knife savagely into Grummett’s heart. The weapon disappeared into Grummett’s chest nearly to the hilt.

 

Timothy was staring at Grummett’s eyes when they went blank in death. At first, he stared in disbelief at the body that had fallen in front of his eyes. But then his breath visibly quickened and what had just happened seemed to hit him at once.

 

He went wild, struggling against the ground. He was screaming, his mouth opening wide. Tears coursed relentlessly down his cheeks. Damian read Grummett’s name on his lips, over and over like a helpless prayer. He couldn’t seem to look away from his dead lover.

 

Although he had to have been screaming loud enough for his voice to echo, not a single soul came to investigate. The leader stared at Timothy silently for a long moment and let Grummett’s face drop into the dirty water of the street gutter. The puddle steadily curled and twisted with the blood spreading into it. Dirty brown became clotted crimson. The blood spread further, a pool growing around Grummett that crept closer and closer to Timothy’s face.

 

The leader smirked and stepped over the corpse, boots splashing in the deep red puddle. He sauntered over to Timothy and stared down at him coldly. He ordered something to the other two, who unceremoniously yanked Timothy up. He laughed as Timothy continued to thrash and scream. He reached up and pulled Timothy’s head back with a hand in his hair. At that angle, Damian could clearly read the words on the leader’s lips. “ _I want you to remember this._ ”

 

The knife was still wet with Grummett’s blood when it plunged into Timothy’s stomach. The leader yanked it out, dropping Timothy’s hair so he could get better leverage.

 

With more force than was necessary, he slammed the knife into the same spot. Timothy appeared to cry out, going slack in their hands. Even so, the leader yanked it out again, rearing back for a third strike. The blade was just arcing toward Timothy’s stomach when the lookout suddenly turned and yelled something. There were hurried, confused motions and the leader reluctantly stopped his assault. The leader looked annoyed at first but then they must have all heard a noise because the gang members all looked over at the same area. The leader flipped his bloody knife out of view and immediately ran away, seeming to completely forget Timothy and Grummett’s existences. The others were close behind.

 

Alone, Timothy dropped to the ground. By now, it appeared that the fight had gone out of him. His face was blank with shock. He held a hand to his stomach almost absently as his eyes once again sought out Grummett’s ravaged body. Timothy dropped his hand and crawled toward him, leaving a bloody print smeared across the pavement every time he set his hand down. His hand touched the black sketchbook that had been dropped on the ground. It didn’t even seem to register in his brain what he was seeing until his fingers wrapped around the leather, carefully kept away from the edge of the white pages. Still, in the earlier commotion, some blood had stained the book. Shaking his head to get rid of his daze, Timothy began his mindless crawl toward Grummett once again.

 

He started to reach out to touch Grummett but his fingers came away completely coated with blood and gore, and he held them up. Damian got a glimpse of a shocked expression and distant eyes, _so very much like the expression he wore when Damian first met him_ , before Timothy suddenly turned from the camera’s view. He began heaving violently in the gutter behind the bloody scene.

 

Within seconds a young woman with dirty blond hair appeared in the frame. She seemed a little distracted, looking down at something in her hands, but when she looked up she saw the two immediately. Stumbling back, her mouth opened wide. She ran over, screaming with as much terror in her face as if she were the one hurt. She appeared to speak to Timothy before pulling out her cell phone.

 

Although the woman appeared hysterical, Timothy just stared at Grummett’s body. He didn’t move any longer and any traces of emotion had drained away from him. His face was slack, eyes blank, as the woman called out to him frantically. Timothy didn’t respond – he didn’t react, and didn’t even attempt to pay attention to his own wounds. He let the blood soak his shirt and pants; his stare centered on Grummett’s face, bloody and twisted to the side. Staring at Timothy with sightless eyes.

 

Within the next few minutes, the scene exploded around him with commotion.

 

Police and EMT workers arrived, but even then Timothy didn’t react. They moved him around but he was limp as a corpse, although his eyes never left Grummett’s body. The video ended soon after, with Timothy being loaded onto an ambulance and sped away, hands still holding onto his gift. Grummett’s corpse was left behind to the police and crime scene technicians, in a pool of his own blood.

 

Damian sat and stared for a long moment before he replayed the video again, and watched with an almost clinical detachment. He observed from under heavy lidded narrowed eyes and picked Grummett’s fighting technique apart with almost cruel disgust at the boy’s inability to defend himself and his lover. The sloppy way the gang leader gutted him was not much better and Damian absently went through several methods of killing that would have been quicker and more efficient.

 

He’d been a professional assassin by the time he was their age; as far as he was concerned there was no excuse for the lack of skill.

 

He replayed it again and watched the desperate way Grummett fought to defend his friend, and watched the knife disappear into Timothy’s body. The anger that Damian felt at the sight was unexpected. Why should he care, he asked himself dully, looking away and focusing on the window and the dark sky beyond.

 

Timothy had survived the attack. If Grummett had lived, it was more than likely that Timothy would have never become an apathetic recluse who’d valued his life so little that he’d agreed to join the League. He would have never met Damian.

 

Even so, Damian’s teeth ground together and his fingers tightened around the mouse.

 

Timothy had given Damian that sketchbook – the same sketchbook that had witnessed the bloody event that ended Timothy’s friend… What did that gesture mean? Damian was not sentimental and he didn’t understand the need for such sentiments, but he wasn’t… he wasn’t an _imbecile_. He knew Timothy’s gesture meant something. But _what_ did it mean? Like every time he had to deal with his own emotions, Damian violently pushed the question aside. He would contemplate on it later. Now, he must figure it out why this video was bothering him.

 

This time, he actually had an answer to the question.

 

Damian knew why it bothered him, and it was because of the ridiculous, growing infatuation he had with Drake. It was the same reason why it pissed him off when anyone on the compound looked at Timothy the wrong way or made one of their stupid comments about him. It had nothing to do with whether Timothy was alive now. It just bothered him that someone had attacked him in general.

 

Shaking his head and wondering where he’d gone wrong to be in this partnership, Damian looked back at the screen. He tried to ignore the desire he had to replay the first part of the video. It shouldn’t have taken him so aback to see Timothy kissing Grummett, to see their bodies grinding together in a mimicry of sex. But it had surprised him, and his body had reacted in an unexpected way. The coil of arousal didn’t make another appearance when Damian inevitably re–watched it, but that was only because he now knew what would happen next.

 

But his mind betrayed him and supplied mental images of himself crushing Timothy against the wall to his apartment. Instead of the memory of what really happened next, he closed his eyes briefly and saw himself ravaging Timothy’s mouth and sliding his hands down Timothy’s body the way Grummett had.

 

Green eyes snapped open and Damian shook himself. He was being a fucking idiot. He focused instead on finding out what had become of the attackers but he met with the same irritating conclusion that he’d expected. Lack of evidence, the eventual police file had said, no suspects, unsolved. He reviewed the files again more carefully and after watching the latter part of the video a second time, he focused more on the lookout and read his lips more than once. It would seem that the leader’s name was Jared.

 

And Jared, it seemed, had gotten away with it.

 

Damian began opening programs and clicking things automatically, face perfectly blank although his eyes burned. He was in mission mode, doing things without thinking; his movements quick and concise. He printed out five pages and erased all traces of his history on the computer. He left the lab with an expression that was a lot deadlier than it had been when he’d gone in.

 

He took the stairs up to Brown’s apartment again and his fist pounded on the door loudly, enough for the sound to echo through the hall.

 

Brown opened the door slowly and stared up at Damian. She seemed to note right away that something was wrong. She took an automatic step back as if wanting to put space between herself and the waves of anger that were radiating off Damian.

 

“Did something happen?” she asked hesitantly.

 

Damian stared down at her blankly and pushed his way into the apartment. “Look these men up for me,” he said flatly.

 

“What?” Brown squinted at him with a bewildered look on her face before taking the printed images that Damian held in one white–knuckled hand. “Who are these guys? Is this all you have?”

 

Damian stared at him stonily. “Just do it,” he said softly.

 

Brown nodded hastily and shoved the mass of papers and magazines off her desk before taking her seat at the computer. She laid each photograph out in the newly cleared space and chewed her lip. “Are these surveillance stills?” She glanced up at Damian, professional attitude taking over. “I need more to work with than this,” she said almost apologetically.

 

“They are near First Bank. I think that one’s name is Jared.” Damian pointed at the picture. “He’s the one I want.”

 

Brown froze for a moment and then nodded. “Uh, okay just a sec.” She turned on a lamp with an extremely bright bulb. “I know for a fact that after the war there were only three First Banks that reopened in the city so…” She trailed off and turned to her computer, fingers flying over the keyboard. “Okay, so these pictures were taken in front of the First Bank on Dauphin Street in Bludhaven,” she murmured more to herself than Damian. “Used to be a nice area, wealthy folks, but it was a prime spot for gang activity and looting after the bombings because it was really close to one of the blast sites.”

 

Damian crossed his arms over his chest and said nothing.

 

“And it looks like they’re in the same gang… with a green bandana,” Brown mumbled to herself. She focused entirely on the computer screen and her fingers clattered at the keys as she intently studied everything she saw. Her mouth pursed in a thin line and she swore several times to herself.

 

Damian stood completely still, not moving from his position even as time ticked by. He didn’t know why it made him so angry – didn’t know why he even cared in any way. It didn’t affect anything happening at the present time. It certainly didn’t affect him. But, even so... Even so, it didn’t stop him from wanting to know if Jared was out and about, enjoying his life.

 

It was another few moments by the time Brown sat up straight in her chair and let out an exclamation. “The Forsaken!” she said excitedly. “They’re in the news so much you’d think I would have remembered what color they wore,” she complained even as she poured over the information she’d apparently found.

 

Damian’s eyes finally dragged away from the photo and trained on Brown with cold patience. “Yes?”

 

“Wait–” Brown said, swept up in her research. “Okay, the Forsaken formed before the wars… major beef with the South Side Boys, got worse over the years–” She mumbled as she read out loud and skimmed the information. “Jared Strickland suspected in multiple murders and rapes around Bludhaven... but never pinned with any of them. He’s a real shit bag. Has a terrible record dating back to 2060 when he was only fifteen. Seems to get off on slashing civilians and has a bad history of rape. It doesn’t make sense that he’s never been inside a jail for longer than a few months at a time. He has to be protected by someone in the police department or higher. There’s even speculation about it in the Journalist Guild although it doesn’t seem like they ever found concrete proof.”

 

Brown looked up at Damian and motioned for him to come to her side of the desk. Damian eyed her for a moment before crossing the space that separated them. He stood behind Brown and leaned over her shoulder, looking at the computer screen impassively.

 

“Is uh, this your guy?”

 

“Yes. That’s my guy.” Somewhere in the back of his mind he noted absently that it’d been the same corrupt police department that had tried to pin the Bludhaven murders on him several years ago.

 

Brown nodded and glanced back down at the screen. “A lot of his cronies are in jail or dead already but somehow this guy has survived. His crimes have piled up a lot over the last few years but nothing has happened really. Sometimes there has even been evidence that was either ignored or miraculously went missing. He definitely has to be related to someone or else he has some kind of dirt on a big shot in the city.”

 

The comment deepened Damian’s frown and he brushed a hand across his face. He fought the urge to ask which crimes exactly had piled up over the past decade. Had it been the serial rapes in Bludhaven and Crandall Park that they’d tried to pin on Damian? The murders that had seemed mostly gang related although they’d tried to imply that he was behind it after going on some kind of rampage?

 

He didn’t know if any of this was true but at the moment it seemed possible. The man had obviously been an active psychopath for the last nine or ten years so the timing was correct. How ironic if it turned out to be true the police would have stuck him with Jared’s crimes, possibly even including Grummett’s murder. But it was all speculation.

 

Getting back to the matter at hand, Damian looked at the laptop again. “There’s a surveillance tape of one of his crimes in the League database. How could the police not use it against him?”

 

Brown shook her head, seeming just as dismayed by the obvious obstruction. “My guess is that the League was keeping an eye on Jared since he was obviously a high profile criminal.”

 

“Maybe they wanted to recruit him,” Damian said flatly.

 

Brown gave a nod, surprised Damian with the plain disgust in her eyes. “I wouldn’t be surprised. I know they’ve hired lots of criminals and killers before. I guess sociopaths fit their assassin profile... In the end, they don’t actually keep people like Strickland though. It seems like he gets too much of a thrill out of doing this stuff.”

 

Damian didn’t really give a shit about Strickland’s psych profile. “The tape?”

 

“Oh, right. Well, I’m thinking after the League copied it, the original somehow disappeared like all of the other stuff that tended to go miraculously missing with this guy.” Brown scanned whatever she was reading, frowning. “Oh wow, apparently he killed some rich politician’s son a few years ago too.”

 

Damian tensed at the words. So far he hadn’t explicitly told Brown that he was looking into the death of Timothy’s friend and he didn’t plan to. If Brown saw it herself, it would be out of his hands. Fortunately, whatever Brown was reading didn’t appear to mention Timothy’s name.

 

“That was a pretty high profile for a while so there’s some stuff on it here. Apparently, he murdered this kid in broad daylight and then went around trying to pawn some jewelry taken from the scene. Several different pawn brokers came forward stating that Strickland was trying to sell a pendant with the Grummett family crest on it, and even people stating that they saw Strickland wearing it but nothing was done.”

 

The venom that had started swirling in Damian’s system began to burn. The arrogance of this person was astounding. He must think himself untouchable. Safe beyond a measure of doubt. “Where is he now?”

 

Brown scanned the page with an abnormal speed but somehow took in every piece of information. “According to what we have in the database about him, he’s still a lieutenant in the Forsaken but really heavy into drugs. He’s in a methadone program but still does heroin at the same time. And... oh, he currently resides at 289 Hammond Place in the Industrial district. Hmm… It seems that he is just squatting there but it’s on his residency placard for some re–”

 

Damian was gone before the sentence could be completed.

 

* * *

 

Aside from the Barrows, the Industrial district was one of the worst places to be in the city after a certain time. Despite the curfew that the police had put in the area, it could still be a haven of crime. Robberies were a frequent occurrence as were random acts of violence. The area was controlled by the South Side Boys ironically enough so Damian had no idea why Strickland was even living there. Perhaps it was close enough to the Theater District that he felt comfortable.

 

289 Hammond Place was one of the abandoned tenement buildings that hovered in one grid of the district. It was dilapidated and against building code, but no one was supposed to live there so nobody cared. Jared Strickland lived on the top floor. It appeared to be half hideout, half drug den; paraphernalia was scattered everywhere in the loft–like space he occupied.

 

The years hadn’t been kind to Strickland. Years of fighting, drugs, and alcohol had aged him. He was only in his late twenties but he looked closer to forty–five. His eyes were as hard as they had been in the video and his face just as cruel. He was one of those rare people whose inner qualities seemed to be displayed across his outward appearance like a banner. But despite this toughness, Strickland was obviously not doing well. He looked emaciated and weak. The room stank of sickness.

 

Strickland sat on the filthy mattress that sagged on the floor and peered out the window with anxious eyes. His hands were shaking slightly and he was covered in a sheen of sweat. He looked pale and unclean; his eyes looked sunken in and had a yellowish tinge.

 

He didn’t seem to sense that someone else had entered the room until the shadows shifted in the corner. His eyes snapped to the area and narrowed, mouth twisting in a hateful sneer. “It’s about time,” he growled. “I feel like fucking shit waiting for you. I can’t even get up.”

 

His only answer was silence but silence that was punctuated with the undeniable fact that there was someone else in the room. Strickland shifted on the bed and shakily pulled himself to a stand. “Archie, what the hell are you doing?”

 

Damian’s dark figure detached itself from the rest of the shadows and Jared recoiled instantly. He pushed himself back against the wall, tremors increasing as he bent to grope the dirty sheets for a weapon. His skinny body moved erratically, fingers barely able to perform the search. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

 

Damian didn’t respond and walked towards him calmly. The moonlight illuminated his face as Strickland looked at him with a growing sense of unease. His arrogance didn’t seem to be with him at the moment. Neither did the prowess he’d showed with his blade on the video. Now he just looked helpless. He was starting to look frightened as well.

 

“I’m warning you man, you’re fucking with the wrong dude,” Strickland said lowly. His breath was coming in fast, uneven spurts.

 

Damian didn’t stop walking until he was standing directly in front of him. Strickland pressed his back against the wall, looking as though he wanted nothing more than to cling to his arrogance. If he’d been face to face with anyone else he would have likely started dropping Forsaken names, claiming that Fender Aulds himself would avenge him if anything happened.

 

But Damian wasn’t anyone else.

 

His face was devoid of emotion, his green eyes burning with hatred. At the moment, it didn’t process that this would be cold blooded murder. It didn’t process that this man was helpless. Defenseless. At the moment he just saw an arrogant killer who was still wearing the Grummett pendant on his thin neck.

 

“Dude – what do you want?” Strickland demanded desperately, scuttling away from Damian. “Money? Drugs? Fuck man, just tell me what you want!”

 

Damian’s full mouth twisted up into a smile. “ _I want you to remember this._ ” He said, his voice turned down a pitch lower than usual.

 

Jared’s blood–curdling screams echoed through the Industrial district for hours.

 

No one came to his aid.

 

* * *

 

When Tim entered his house, it was dark and silent. He absently flipped on a light as he dropped his bag on the couch in the living room. The meeting with Queen Bee had ended up running long and he was tired. Part of him wanted to go straight to sleep but he decided he needed some wind-down time to relax. He headed toward the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.

 

He turned the light on as he walked into the kitchen. The unexpected sight of someone sitting in there made his heart jump with adrenaline and alarm. It took a second to realize that it was Damian, sitting at his kitchen table, his eyes down and face void of expression. Tim was completely taken off guard by the presence of his partner, who he’d never told where he lived.

 

”Damian,” Tim said in surprise. “What – _How_ did you get in here?”

 

Damian’s vivid green eyes rose and he stared at Tim for a long moment before he shifted in the chair. It was then that his shirt became more visible, as well as the bloodstains that were splattered on it. Closer inspection showed that there were remnants of blood also visible on his hands, with splatters on his face and neck. It was barely visible as if he’d tried to quickly scrub himself clean but hadn’t been able to do a thorough job.

 

“I picked the lock.”

 

“What? Why – ?”

 

The scene almost felt surreal but it was quickly being eclipsed by confusion and growing concern. Tim moved toward his partner. “Did something happen? Are you alright?”

 

“I’m fine,” Damian replied quickly, standing and moving further away from Tim. He raked both hands through his hair, the movements slightly unsteady. “Fine.”

 

Tim stopped, hands still partially raised from when he’d been about to reach out. Damian’s reaction only confused him further. The strangeness of the situation was beginning to make him nervous. “Damian, what’s going on?” he asked a little warily. He stayed where he was, although now he was getting even more worried about his partner and the question of whose blood that was. Damian’s gaze flicked away again and he didn’t reply. His face was drawn in blankness except for eyes that burned like green fire. It was an expression that was eerily similar to the one he took on when a mission was occurring. A mission where he shut everything else out and became the killing machine he was said to be.

 

Tim hesitated. Was this the precursor to one of Damian’s episodes? No one had ever fully determined what exactly caused them. Despite seeming as though he may have washed some off, there was enough blood left on Damian to make it seem very likely that he’d killed someone. Who? As far as Tim knew, Damian hadn’t been on a mission although one could have come up. But if he hadn’t been, had something happened? Had he snapped? Had he killed a civilian? Was this the beginning of an episode and, if so, was it possible he would attack Tim?

 

If that happened, would Tim be able to stop it this time?

 

“Dami...” He watched his partner, feeling poised on a moment of uncertainty. He wanted to move closer to him to see if he was injured; see if he needed help. At the same time, his instincts were yelling at him to move to the far side of the room and stay near an exit in case he needed to run. He didn’t know what to do in a situation like this, and it was starting to scare him.

 

“Damian, what do you want from me?” Tim asked carefully.

 

At that Damian looked up and moved forward, reaching out suddenly. It was so abrupt of a movement, and so unexpected, that Tim took an automatic step back. Alarm flashed across his face before he could stop it and he tensed as he subconsciously fell into a defensive stance.

 

There was another pause, but this time Damian seemed to freeze. There was a brief flash of something in his expression as stared at Tim for a long moment, but then his eyes dropped as his mouth turned down.

 

“I found something... of yours.” Damian looked like it physically pained him to say the next words. “Happy birthday.”

 

“What..?” Tim felt like he was constantly losing his balance in this conversation.

 

There was another brief stretch of strained silence before Damian put something on the table and slid it across towards Tim.

 

Tim looked down, his eyebrows drawing together at first.

 

A necklace?

 

He didn’t even have any necklaces so how could it be his? He started to reach for it when he registered that there was a ring on it. Something about it made dread pool in the pit of his stomach and it was only a second later when he recognized it.

 

Kon’s ring.

 

Kon’s necklace.

 

The necklace he was wearing when he – Tim’s hand snapped away and he stumbled back automatically. His face drained of blood, a look of horror twisting his features. The dread in his stomach spread like wildfire with nausea as thick as smoke –

 

That day slammed back into his mind with sharp, frightening clarity. The memories he’d been trying to push away and suppress and ignore and pretend it hadn’t happened, it had all been a nightmare, it had all been –

 

_Kon’s face, twisted in agony and impotence –_

_That helpless, terrible certainty that moved between them when they realized it had all gone so horribly out of control and there was no stopping it –_

_There was no changing the way that fight was going and Kon was going to die –_

Bile was at the back of his throat and Tim’s arms jerked against his stomach.

_The memory of that knife, hot with Kon’s blood, plunging into him – and it hurt, it hurt so much as they held him still and smirked and laughed. When the knife drove into him he couldn’t help thinking, this is what Kon felt, this is what Kon felt when he –_

 

He was going to throw up. He couldn’t be here. He couldn’t...

 

Tim turned around and walked out of the kitchen, feeling ten steps removed from the moment and unable to deal with any of it. He was barely able to hold everything together so it wouldn’t make him break down again. Conner’s violent death and the anguish in his eyes right up until the end –

 

_Those blue eyes that used to follow his movements and those lips that smiled at his presence and brushed his warmly when they were close –_

 

No. No, no, no, he didn’t want to remember, he didn’t want to hurt like that again...

 

Nowhere felt safe in his house but he fled anyway, going into his parents’ old room because it didn’t have memories of Kon there. Memories and emotions and pain were an avalanche growing inside, ready to topple and suffocate him, and he had to be alone before it happened. He couldn’t show that weakness; he couldn’t let anyone hurt him with it again.

 

His body was taut as a rubber band ready to snap and he was gritting his teeth, coiled in on himself in a dark corner and holding tightly to his knees. It was rising in him; the agony and the horrific memories and he could practically feel again the ghost of that hot blood splattering his face and Kon – his best friend, his lover, his protector, his brother, his _everything_ –

 

Kon’s eyes going from wide and shocked (as if he was asking himself, ‘ _Can it really end like this?’_ and pained ‘ _Don’t hurt Tim, don’t put your hands_ _on him!’_ to glassy and dead –

 

Pain and a torrent of tears and too much, far too much built in him –

 

Memories of Dauphin Street and afterward and everything that he’d tried so hard for so long to push away so he could function…

 

Conner’s death had destroyed him and it had taken everything to make it through that and the aftermath. And all along it had only been reinforced – he shouldn’t show weakness so they wouldn’t hurt him again, so no one would hurt him again.

 

But all those years of trying to deny and repress were ripped out and flayed by the sight of one innocuous necklace. His fingers dug into his hair and he pressed his face against his knees and he tried so hard not to cry, not to vomit, but he didn’t make it long.

 

He didn’t even hear when Damian had left.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *ducks objects* Think of the bright side, guys XD At least Damian gives Tim a gift for his birthday? Avenging angel Damian tho *winks* Did you guys prepare yourself like I asked you to? Did it work? *whispers* Did you guys prepare some suffering for me?
> 
> **Next chapter:**
> 
> “I began to work for the League as a field agent at first, quickly moving up because of my military background. I met Damian’s father here.” There was the hint of a smile in his voice, although when Clark turned to Tim again it wasn't entirely visible on his face.
> 
> “He was such a _smug_ man.” The word was said with exasperated fondness. “I disliked him at first, especially because everyone else seemed to love him. They keep getting drawn in by his ‘quiet, mysterious charm’, it was infuriating especially since I tried so hard to be outgoing and helpful to everyone else around me and he walked around, waving a wad of cash and lurking in the corner and everyone scrambled to meet his needs.” Clark chuckled. “He baited me and we’d argue. But we worked together for awhile and he saved my life on more than one occasion. I saved his, too. That period of time… things were tough with the government, but… my partnership with Bruce… It was the highlight of the old days for me.”
> 
> Tim shifted, feeling distinctively uncomfortable. There was something in Clark’s expression that he couldn’t place, and he had a feeling that he should have been able to identify it but somehow, his mind kept pushing the idea out of his reach. Maybe he was overthinking the little tilt of Clark’s lips at the mention of Bruce Wayne or the way his eyes softened. Everyone seemed to think that they were just best friends and Tim should not doubt it.
> 
> Tim ducked his head, avoiding looking at Clark’s face.


	17. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *is ded* 
> 
> I'm sorry I couldn't update this sooner... It's still technically the 23rd? I was too exhausted to do much after an 8-hour car trip. The next update this week will fall on the 27th so stay tuned for that one :3 I'm sorry this is such a shit job XD I promise I will try better in the next chapter. *pats* Well, this one is setting up for the big ending of the prelude anyway... So... Prepare for Sunday's shitstorm, guys.
> 
> *whispers* I read every single one of your reviews. I'm so touched (And yeah, I had a great birthday, you know, eating your suffering and all) and I couldn't reply because of tireness but I promise you guys made writing this story worth it :D Thank you *pats*
> 
> Before you guys read the story though. I **highly recommend** opening another tab to listen to this. It'll set the mood, trust me :3  
> [ Armor - Landon Austin](http://listenonrepeat.com/watch/?v=eUU6MEmMp20#Landon_Austin_-_Armor)

The week following his birthday was punctuated with waking nightmares and sleepless nights like Tim hadn’t had in years, and overwhelming moments of feeling at a complete loss. He avoided the kitchen for most of the next day, not wanting to confront the memories that seemed too stark and cutting. It made it feel like Kon’s murder had happened yesterday instead of years before, and like all the months he’d spent layering avoidance upon apathy upon denial were now taken away.

 

When he closed his eyes he had the nightmares again; That day, over and over in his mind, remembering the feel of the wall hard against his back, his hair catching on the bricks and Kon’s chuckle, the guilty thrill of his lover, his best friend, pressing him to the side of an alley and that happy feeling that had suffused him when they’d touched foreheads and smiled at each other.

 

The erroneous belief that everything would be okay. That they had each other, no matter what.

 

And after that, the horror that for so long he’d wanted to believe had just been a dream, a terrible dream that he could wake from. But it was all there, locked in his memory and seeping poison. The laughter around him; the hands digging into his arms and fists slamming into him until he fell.

 

Their taunts and inhumanity. Blood spilling out of Kon’s mouth and mocking words sliding around them.

 

_“I think you broke some of this fucker’s teeth.”_

_“It’ll make it easier for him to give head.”_

 

And Jared’s face, burned into his mind like a brand. That smirk; that arrogance.

 

The way he played with the knife. The way he played with them.

 

“This your little woman? I always knew you were a fucking faggot, Grummett.”

 

Those hated fingers digging in his hair; the feeling of the world as a black hole collapsing in on itself and everything falling apart. That face, close to him and smirking.

 

And, more than anything, the words that had haunted his dreams and mocked every scream, every hysterical sob in the long weeks that had followed.

 

_“I want you to remember this.”_

 

During the waking hours he tried not to remember Kon’s death because it hurt so much but at night it was all he saw, over and over. Arcing blood and the wet, dead weight sound of a body falling to the ground. The feel of hot blood licking his cheeks; getting smeared by his tears.

 

He remembered his throat going raw from screaming and, feeling worse and worse each time he remembered it, the impotence and terror of being held down throughout it all. Unable to do anything. Unable to stop the moment that destroyed everything for him. Unable to protect his lover only a few feet away. Unable to even protect himself. And, compounding it, other memories crowding in. Dark shadows and painful wrists and the taste of blood in his throat. The fear only growing and growing until it was enough to eclipse all else.

 

It took several days to be able to function on any level. He’d spent years trying to protect himself from the very thing that had so unexpectedly been brought back to him.

 

At first it was all he could do to make it through the night. He spent more hours awake than not and finally breached the kitchen for coffee.

 

Later, he was able to look at the situation askance just enough to realize that the presence of the ring and the blood must mean Damian had found Jared. He’d tracked down the arrogant son of a bitch who had destroyed Tim’s life and murdered Kon for fun, and he’d brought the ring back as proof.

 

But even when he’d realized that, it was still too much to comprehend. Too much to take in. He’d spent so long trying to protect himself from these very memories that it was a struggle to get over them at all. Let alone formulate any sort of coherent response.

 

During that period Tim and Damian saw each other at a meeting. Tim didn’t remember much of the meeting itself. He’d felt Damian’s green eyes burning into him from time to time but Tim hadn’t been able to speak to him. He didn’t know what to say when he barely had words for himself. He didn’t know what to do when he was still reeling from it all.

 

So he ended up partially avoiding Damian because he was almost afraid to be alone with him. Afraid that there hadn’t been enough time for him to rediscover his balance. Afraid that Damian would ask him questions he couldn’t answer and afraid that being alone with him would make him start thinking too much about the whole situation. Like how had Jared died? Had he suffered? Had that piece of shit remembered what he’d done to Kon and had he been keeping that ring as some sort of laughing memento? How could Jared have lived so long when Kon, Kon who’d been everything to Tim, had been killed so violently and so soon?

 

It was over a week and a half since his birthday, and a few days since the first meeting, when Tim was called into a briefing. He’d managed to force himself to come to terms on some level with the situation but he was still at a loss as to how to respond to Damian.

 

Nothing seemed right and part of him wasn’t sure he wanted to broach the subject anyway. Part of him wanted to simply accept the knowledge (and the relief he hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for) of knowing that Jared was dead, and not examine it any further. That part of him wanted the ability to walk away from all the terrible feelings that had been dredged up and try, once again, to start anew. Yet another part of him knew he was only fooling himself to think he could do that, and pointed out that obviously the first time he’d done it he’d only buried the feelings or else they wouldn’t have hurt him so much when they were sliced back open.

 

Regardless of that, the one thing he knew was that it was painful enough to think about and felt impossible to talk about. The very concept was overwhelming.

 

At the meeting, Tim sat down next to Stephanie while Kate focused on his panel.

 

Cass came in later than Tim and, with a sleepy, disgruntled look at Tim for stealing her usual spot, she moved to the other side of the table.

 

Damian and General Kent were already there. Tim noticed in glancing past Damian that he was expressionless, reminiscent of the way he’d been before they’d started talking.

 

Although Tim noted that, he didn’t know what to do about it. Since the briefing was about to start, he felt relief in knowing that he didn’t have to try to figure it out.

 

“I won’t bother to ask how everyone is doing,” Clark said dryly, taking in Tim’s somber face and Damian’s non-expression. “I’m sure everyone’s tired of doing nothing for so long, but the good news is that we finally arranged a meeting with Lucas Trent.”

 

When neither of his field agents commented, Clark scowled and looked between them more closely. “Is there something I need to know?”

 

Tim kept his eyes on Clark while he silently shook his head. Cass looked between Damian and Tim with interest, tilting her face thoughtfully in that uncomfortable silence that meant she was seeing pass something no one could, and Kate watched them strangely. “It’s probably the weather,” Steph said lamely after an awkward moment of silence.

 

Clark stared at Stephanie briefly before shaking his head. “Anyway. The meeting will be in German and is expected to last two days. That is all he claimed he can spare, and that’s your window for getting the Intel from him. Arrangements have already been made and you will be staying at Trent’s hotel in Berlin. You leave tonight.”

 

“He has a hotel?” Stephanie asked. “I didn’t know he was that loaded.”

 

“Yes. But I don’t really wish to discuss the man’s money or where it possibly comes from.” Clark made a face and continued. “I cannot stress enough the importance of this mission. He’s willing to give us data on the Court’s inner core, with a very high probability that it is legitimate. Before now, their inner core has been almost mythical because it’s been completely out of our reach.”

 

His eyebrows drew together as he gave Damian and Tim significant looks. “Trent is very fickle, as you should know, Damian. His cooperation depends on his mood so you need to keep him happy. I don’t care what you have to do as long as you stay on his good side. He’s loyal to no one in particular and will go with whoever best suits his needs and whims at the moment.”

 

“It should be noted,” Kate said mildly, “that the area the hotel is set in is very high class. If you stand out too much,” and her gaze settled on Damian, “then you may irritate Trent. He does not want it known that he associates with questionable people.”

 

Cassandra nodded, leaning against one hand. “Dress sharply.”

 

“Damian?” It seemed as though Damian hadn’t even heard him so Clark leaned forward and slammed his hand against the table. “Wake up.”

 

Green eyes lifted and stared at General Kent moodily. “Yes?”

 

“You need to do something about that hair. Report to Dinah in Unit 16 immediately after this meeting.”

 

Damian looked at him with barely concealed contempt. “Whatever.”

 

“It sucks for you guys, though,” Stephanie said to Damian and Tim, completely idly as if she had not heard Clark and Damian’s exchange. “He gave you no time. Gave me no time, either... I had to get you plane tickets for tonight already, and I bet you a week’s vacation that tomorrow he’ll be expecting you to be bright-eyed and chipper, and...”

 

She trailed off in confusion for a second. She turned to look at Cass almost curiously, as if asking her silently what she had been talking about. “Chipper.” Cass stepped in to remind Stephanie where she was going with it much to Steph’s delight.

 

“He will,” Clark agreed. “He demanded that the meeting be tomorrow and no later or the whole deal was off. I don’t particularly enjoy playing his games but unfortunately the current state of affairs leave me very little choice. He is very particular about what he wa--”

 

“What I don’t understand,” Damian interrupted coldly and flatly, “is why my presence is needed at all. My job is to kill. There will be no killing. I serve no purpose.”

 

“Oh, I’m sure you can find the odd innocent bystander to rip into,” Kate drawled, looking annoyed at Damian’s sudden interruption of the General’s words.

 

Damian stared at him and said nothing.

 

Clark was silent a moment as he sized up the senior agent. His blue eyes were narrowed and his expression was becoming increasingly stormy. “You’re going because it’s your job. You and Tim are a team. Your job is to back him up when things get out of hand. This isn’t a Queen Bee mission where we know exactly how to handle him. Lucas Trent is a wildcard, we can’t trust him. For all we know this could very well be a trap.”

 

Damian’s eyes flicked to Tim but his eyes almost immediately moved away. “He can handle it,” he said flatly. “Just put me back in my fucking box and stop making me go on these bullshit assignments.”

 

Clark’s mouth tightened into a line and he looked at the others. “Kate, give Tim the overview. Damian. See me outside. Now.” He stood up abruptly, gave Damian another frozen look and strode outside.

 

Damian’s mouth twisted into a humorless smile and he followed Clark. Tim watched the two leave, wondering briefly what was being said out there. He kept his expression blank and unreadable.

 

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” Kate asked Tim, actually sounding curious. She slid two panels across the table.

 

“Nothing,” Tim said tonelessly. He grabbed one of the panels and turned it on, flicking through the documents on the touchscreen quickly. There was the mission outline, background information on Lucas Trent, the information to download their tickets and more.

 

Shrugging in complete unconcern, Kate didn’t challenge the comment when Tim said nothing more. “If you lose the password, you will be out of luck. The information is heavily encrypted.”

 

“Ah,” Tim said, for lack of anything better to say.

 

Kate just shook her head and looked back at her panel, pushing her red hair back. “I’m sure you can read and you have an eight hour flight so I don’t really see the need to tell you detail by detail right now.”

 

Tim nodded. “I understand.”

 

Kate gave up with a mildly irritated sigh.

 

Stephanie frowned slightly and leaned closer to Tim, speaking low enough to be unheard by Cass and Kate. “What happened? You were both doing so well.”

 

Tim just shook his head, not wanting to go into the details. He did his best to not seem completely unapproachable in the movement but he didn’t know how successful he was.

 

Although he’d spent some time around Stephanie on and off over the last few months, and although he did like her and they’d spoken a bit about some personal information, Tim hadn’t told anyone about Kon. He couldn’t even come up with adequate words for Damian, let alone Stephanie.

 

Stephanie frowned and her eyes looked almost skeptical behind fallen blond hair. “I know it’s none of my business but ever since that night Damian came to my apartment –”

 

The door slammed open with a crack, cutting Stephanie off. Clark reappeared, a black look on his normally affable face. “Tim, get in my office.”

 

Tim looked over immediately and felt his stomach drop. Any questions that had started to form in his mind as to why in the world Damian had been at Stephanie’s apartment, fled when he saw General Kent’s face. His expression automatically turned blank and he pushed himself to his feet. “Yes, sir.”

 

Clark got ahead of him while he delayed long enough to grab his belongings.

 

When he reached the office, Clark was already there. He stood facing his window, hands clasped behind his back. His spine was ramrod straight and everything about his posture screamed anger and tension. He seemed upset from whatever had been said in his exchange with Damian but Damian was nowhere in sight.

 

Tim shut the door behind him quietly, but did not move much further into the room. Every time Tim could remember being in Clark’s presence before he had seemed in a relatively good mood and if he was angry it was never at Tim. But now that didn’t seem to be the case. As he stood there, he didn’t dare look at the walls, didn’t dare do anything but watch General Kent’s back with the utmost respect. Clark stood there for several moments before saying anything. The silence practically hummed with tension that thickened the air, radiating off the obviously upset man.

 

“I don’t suppose anyone ever told you how I met Damian’s father?”

 

The question seemed like a non sequitur but Tim decided not to question anything. “No, sir.”

 

Clark nodded and continued to stare out the window. “After the war began, the military was a mess. Our Commander in Chief was dead, the Vice President was dead, the Secretary of Defense... dead. The Pentagon was in shambles.” He was quiet for a moment.

 

“I began to work for the League as a field agent at first, quickly moving up because of my military background. I met Damian’s father here.” There was the hint of a smile in his voice, although when Clark turned to Tim again it wasn't entirely visible on his face.

 

“He was such a  _smug_  man.” The word was said with exasperated fondness. “I disliked him at first, especially because everyone else seemed to love him. They keep getting drawn in by his ‘quiet, mysterious charm’, it was infuriating especially since I tried so hard to be outgoing and helpful to everyone else around me and he walked around, waving a wad of cash and lurking in the corner and everyone scrambled to meet his needs.” Clark chuckled. “He baited me and we’d argue. But we worked together for awhile and he saved my life on more than one occasion. I saved his, too. That period of time… things were tough with the government, but… my partnership with Bruce… It was the highlight of the old days for me.”

 

Tim shifted, feeling distinctively uncomfortable. There was something in Clark’s expression that he couldn’t place, and he had a feeling that he should have been able to identify it but somehow, his mind kept pushing the idea out of his reach. Maybe he was overthinking the little tilt of Clark’s lips at the mention of Bruce Wayne or the way his eyes softened. Everyone seemed to think that they were just best friends and Tim should not doubt it.

 

Tim ducked his head, avoiding looking at Clark’s face.

 

“There was a time when things were especially bad. The government was still picking up the pieces and everyone was an enemy. It’s around that time when they decide to start assassinating threats instead of simple detainment because the number of inmates overwhelmed their system. Bruce… He didn’t agree with their methods. He avoided all the killing unless it’s in self-defense or a mercy kill, or in the midst of a mission where there’s nothing to do about it. But never intentional. He refused to take the assassination missions.” The corners of General Kent’s mouth twisted bitterly. “But the League has… ways. They always do. They have ways to force people to do what they don’t want to do.”

 

There was another brief pause. Tim risked a look at Clark, his fingers twitched at how much pain there was in those eyes. The General looked old, much older than he had ever looked to Tim. For the first time, Tim also realized that this was a man that had gone through wars, had seen lost, had experienced lost. General Kent was as much of a victim of the war as everyone else.

 

“In the end, Bruce agreed to do their assignments. And once he put his mind to it, he was extremely efficient. I was… idealistic. I thought the League’s method would have been more efficient… And I thought Bruce was too stubborn. However, that little disagreement, it created a drift between Bruce and… the League.” Clark said softly.

 

‘ _A drift between Bruce and me_ ’ was the unspoken word, though Tim could still hear it loud and clear.

 

Clark continued. “Bruce was sent on long solo missions, assassination missions, he’d disappear for months on undercover stints. Our main form of communication to him was via e-mail for years.”

 

Clark paused and stared at Tim calmly. “And then, after that, came Dick and Jason, though, I’m not going to tell you their stories. It’s something for another day, perhaps.” He took a deep breath. “Even after Dick and Jason became agents of the League, the League still sent Bruce missions and made him do them.” A humorless smile spread on his lips. “The League was incredibly pleased by the appearance of both Dick and Jason, and they want to know how Bruce trained them, the League summoned Bruce to a debriefing after the completion of a long series of assassinations. It was interesting because Bruce had a certain flare in everything he did. He had a dry sense of humor and it was always evident in his work. But for some reason in his last few missions, there was a distinct lack of that personalization in his mission reports.” He paused again. “Do you know why, Tim?”

 

Tim watched Clark with an unreadable expression, not answering at first. Stephanie said that Damian’s father trained him, and that he came in when he was ten, but he didn’t know if it was directly related. “Because Damian helped him?” he ventured.

 

Clark smiled. “You could say that.”

 

He walked around his desk and leaned against the front of it. “We expected Bruce for the debriefing but instead we got another one of his children. In walked little Wayne with his father’s laptop, ten years old, skinny as a reed and with the exact same face as his father saved for the intense green eyes. We still don’t have complete Intel on the events that occurred during that time but it seemed that Bruce concealed his son’s existence from us for years as he trained him. Dick and Jason never offered us their insights so we don’t know if they know about Damian’s existence or not. We believe that Bruce wanted us to recruit the boy as well, but it didn’t happen as he’d planned it to.”

 

Clark paused for a moment and shook his head. “We’re not sure how Bruce died. We never saw a body, never got a straight answer, but it seems that he’d been dead a year before the debriefing and Damian had completed the assignments on his own.”

 

“Why did he come in?” Tim asked. “Couldn’t he have ignored the summons?”

 

Clark spread his hands. “I don’t know. I don’t even know why he completed the missions after Bruce died. A normal child would have... run away, I imagine.” He looked away, mouth drawing down in a frown. “Bruce was my… friend. But when Damian arrived here, he was half the age of any other agent and ten times as skilled a killer. What Bruce did to get him to that point, I can only wonder about.”

 

Looking down at the panel in his hands, Tim nodded for lack of anything better to do.

 

“I always knew it was a bad idea but no one listened to me at that time,” Clark said with a sigh. “I had no real authority. They couldn’t pass up so good a killer, especially one they thought they could mold from childhood and especially after they saw how skilled both Dick and Jason were. They didn’t care about his age. Or the fact that there was something... wrong with him.” He shook his head. “Damian was always different. It seemed that he knew nothing else but violence; it seemed that he could react in no other way than with violence. He was like a dog that had been trained only to fight. He had no bark. It was all bite. It was better when he was with his brothers, but Jason was deemed unstable and disloyal to the cause at the time… The League was afraid if we put them three together, they would be too strong of a team and they could potentially defect.”

 

The general looked into Tim’s eyes again. “The people here didn’t help Damian’s instability. They knew he was mentally unstable but still they used him and while they used him, they ridiculed him. They labeled him as a freak because he was so young and such an adept killer; they sent him to murder but flinched at him because he did it so well and without any emotion. He got older, colder, more violent. They treated him like a wild animal that could never be tamed, even if they could force him to do what they wanted at times. I’ll never understand the depth of his illness or the triggers of his behavior, but as his violence began to spread outside of missions... the League began to worry. He was too skilled an assassin to give up but at the same time he was wild and out of control. They began devising ways to control him without having to get rid of him.”

 

Clark’s hands curled into fists and once again, he looked away with narrowed cerulean eyes. “I’m ashamed to say that I’ve continued in that vein. I’m ashamed of the box; of the collar. But you have to understand that at this point, after all of the years of his instability growing while untreated, it seemed like it was too late. It seemed as though he was too far gone to ever come back. And although he’d done some heinous things, I knew it was because of his upbringing and I couldn’t blame him entirely. I convinced Connors to give him another chance because I can’t stand to see him in that box, where his fear of isolation pushes him further into insanity. So I devised a plan. I gave him the collar, I tried to do something to let him have some freedom. I didn’t think it would work, I didn’t think you would last as his partner, but for awhile it seemed...”

 

Clark trailed off for a moment, his expression growing weary. “For awhile I began to see a side of him that I’d never seen before. But now, for some reason, it’s gone. Now he’s back to being cold. He told me that if I didn’t put him back in the box, he would make me sorry. That he would force me to do it.” Clark narrowed his eyes. “I need to know why.”

 

Tim felt caught by General Kent’s stare; by the history he laid out. And by the information. Damian had actually said that? But he feared the box. Why would he ever make that threat to Clark?

 

It didn’t take a genius to note the difference between the way Damian had been before that night at Tim’s house and the way he acted afterward. In the past, Damian had wavered between shutting down any progress and moving forward with whatever strangely comfortable thing they’d managed to form between them.

 

But on that night, somewhere between Damian giving him the necklace and Tim walking out on him, things changed. Damian had somehow found out about Kon; maybe he’d read whatever background information he’d once claimed he could read any time he wanted. And he’d managed to somehow track down Jared, presumably kill him, and return the missing ring.

 

Tim didn’t know how Damian knew about the ring but he assumed the League had found out about it. Given that Kon’s parents had been high profile people, and the fact that his Mother had already been at the League, it wasn’t surprising if they’d discovered information Tim wouldn’t have thought could have spread beyond that street. He’d never told anyone about the stolen ring so he could only assume the League had found out later through something related to Jared. The thought was unnerving.

 

Tim didn’t know Damian’s motivations for why he’d done it, what he’d expected of Tim in response, or whether he’d understood from Tim’s reaction about how much it all had upset him. But with the tension and distance that had grown between them afterward, it was clear that it was contributing to the way Damian was acting now.

 

“We--” He stopped. What could he possibly say? “Something happened and it created some distance between us. He may be upset about that.”

 

Clark’s brow creased and his lips pursed as he stared down at Tim. “And what is this something that occurred?”

 

“Just a miscommunication,” Tim said dismissively. His stomach clenched at the idea of Clark pressing it; of him demanding to know what it had been about. “Which isn’t unusual in all honesty, given our history.”

 

Clark was silent for a moment before shaking his head with a sigh. He didn’t seem like he wanted to give up that easily, but for some reason he decided to let it go. “Whatever it is, I should hope it gets sorted it. Especially in light of what is going on now. And now I’m going to get to the real reason I called you in here. What happened to your remote? I know the chip has either malfunctioned or been destroyed.”

 

Tim was caught off-guard by the question. He had almost completely forgotten about the remote, and he certainly didn’t think that anyone would be able to know that anything happened to it. In retrospect, it did make sense that it would be monitored; Damian was only controllable as long as the remote was active.

 

“Ah,” Tim said after a moment. “It...” He wanted to lie, but he couldn’t bring himself to do so to a commanding officer. Especially not after Clark had seemed so angry, and certainly not after he took the time to explain his viewpoint to Tim. “I think it broke.”

 

“It broke,” Clark repeated flatly. There was a stretch of silence. “I didn’t mention the remote before because Damian had showed considerable improvement in his behavior. But now that he has gone right back to where he’d been before, I feel it is imperative that you have it.”

 

He paused and seemed to be searching for the right words. “I can see that you are like me, that you don’t just consider him a tool. I also understand that you two have become close. At the same time, you have to be on your guard. Considering the state he is in at the moment, I strongly advise you accept a replacement.” He walked over to his desk and set a new remote on top of it. “And use your best judgment about its usage.”

 

Tim stared at the remote for a long moment. Clark may be right about Damian’s instability, but Tim had managed to stop him before without the collar. He didn’t feel that he was about to use it now. Still, whether or not he used it didn’t matter. He didn’t have a good reason for turning it down to Clark; all he had to do was not use it. He picked up the remote and put it in his pocket without saying anything.

 

Clark nodded shortly, all business again. “Damian is with Dinah at the moment, getting ready. I suggest you do the same. Your flight is in five hours.” He turned towards his desk again but added something else before Tim could turn to go. “Damian is not the only one you should be worried about on this assignment. Lucas is a good source of information but he has a knack for putting us through hell in order to get it. Regardless of that, we must have it. The information he’s hinting at could turn this entire war with the Court, Tim. It could change everything. And I need you to do whatever it takes to get it.”

 

There was another pause but not one long enough to leave Tim time for questions or comments. “Good luck.”

 

“Yes, sir,” Tim said, and left the room without another word.

 

He went back to the conference room only long enough to find out where Dinah was located, and head over. The receptionist informed him that he would be needing minimal “physical work” and sent him to a room where they ended up giving him a haircut. They didn’t cut off much length but they gave it some style, something he’d been utterly lacking for most of his life.

 

After that he was sent to another room where it turned out that they’d designated suitable clothing for him already. He was told to change into a charcoal-colored suit and a button down shirt, while two more outfits were carefully packed for him in preparation, as well as clothing for Damian. Apparently Unit 16 was yet another pit stop that field agents made before a mission, just like Artillery. However, Unit 16 specialized in undercover outfits and disguises, not weaponry.

 

The wait for Damian was at least forty minutes, but when the other finally reappeared he’d undergone a considerable transformation. For the first time since they’d met, Damian’s appearance was cleaned up. His hastily cut hair had been redone and it was spiking up stylishly.  He was wearing a black suit that was fitted to his lanky body, and a crisp white shirt beneath that had been unbuttoned at the collar.

 

Even with the awkwardness between them, Tim found his gaze lingering on his partner’s appearance. Damian looked good. Really good. It was strange seeing him so cleaned up; almost like he wasn’t the same person. Tim liked the scruffier look Damian usually sported but there was definitely something to be said about the way his eyes and body seemed to stand out even more when he looked like this.

 

He felt a slight pang at the thought combined with the expressionless way Damian glanced past him. He found himself wondering what Damian would look like with one of his more approachable expressions when he was dressed like this. At that thought, he wanted everything between them to be fixed as soon as possible.

 

But when he thought about fixing it, he thought about talking to Damian, which made him think of that night, which brought to mind the ring, which still brought a clenching dread to his stomach and throat, which made his voice leave him before he could even think of anything to say in the first place. It was a cycle he suspected he’d go through a few more times until he could find a way out of it.

 

He just needed a few more days. He just needed to give himself a chance to recover and a chance to determine what he could and would say.

 

Besides, he had to admit that after everything that had happened, and after how upset they each were in their own way, trying to bring up a serious discussion like that right before such an important mission with such a mercurial person was a terrible idea.

 

All it would take was the wrong word or wrong expression and things would be worse off than they already were. And since Damian didn’t like Lucas, the mission was probably going to be strained enough on its own.

 

The mission felt ominous enough on its own, with the warnings about how imperative it was that they do anything necessary to get the information from Lucas and how unpredictable Lucas was. Even so, maybe it was good to have a mission now even though he felt nervous and not at all at the top of his game. Maybe having something else to focus on would help him clear his mind. Maybe on the plane ride home or after the debriefing later he would be able to pull Damian aside and they could talk.

 

But right now, it didn’t work. So, although there were so many things he knew needed to eventually come up between them, he didn’t say any of it.

 

Instead he nodded at Damian and fell in line beside him as they headed toward the door. “You look good,” he commented.

 

Damian shrugged. “I guess.”

 

Tim didn’t have a response to that and they ended up falling silent. Neither of them spoke as they headed for transportation to the airport.

 

The flight ended up being eight hours and they were almost the only people on it.

 

It was a semi-private jet that Stephanie ended up booking them on; the only other people there were a couple of very rich looking business men whose suits probably cost more than a typical person could earn in two years. They spoke over wine about nothing in particular, but Tim found himself idly listening to them as he read through the information on his panel.

 

He gave the other panel to Damian, but Damian did not so much as look at it. His pale green gaze was focused solely on the window, and for the entire flight the only time he was not looking out was when he closed his eyes and sat silently for long periods of time.

 

Being stuck on a plane would have given Tim too much time to brood if he hadn’t had the panel with him. He read everything and reread parts a few times simply because it was something to do. He was very aware of Damian sitting next to him and couldn’t help watching him from the corner of his eye now and then. When he’d exhausted his attention for the panel, he’d turned to watching the drivel movie they had playing on the screen embedded in the back of the seat in front of him. He managed to fall asleep but it wasn’t long before any inane dreams he may have been having turned down the dark path he’d been treading all too often of late, filled with blood and screams and terror. He jerked awake, his heartbeat racing and his skin feeling clammy.

 

Seeing that the others were asleep or not paying attention made relief flood through him. He got up and walked to the bathroom, bracing his hands on the sink for a moment while he tilted his head forward and closed his eyes. He couldn’t think about these things. He couldn’t let nightmares keep jerking him awake; it was dragging down his energy little by little. But he also had no control over it and he supposed expecting himself to deal with everything in under two weeks after having repressed it for years was expecting too much.

 

He ended up splashing his face with some cold water and looked at himself in the mirror. He could see the rings beneath his eyes, which were slightly bloodshot.

 

Aside from that, he hadn’t mussed up his hair or clothing too much so far. He was still presentable, which was the most important thing right now. If he could give a good first impression with Lucas, and if he approached this as high level negotiation and was careful with his interaction, maybe they could pull this off with minimal problems. He could do this.

 

He pat-dried his face with one of the paper towels in there and then threw the crumpled towel in the trash receptacle with a partially suppressed sigh. The idea of going back out there, acting like everything was okay for the sake of the civilians on the plane while he worried about the mission and Damian and his own problems... It wasn’t something he looked forward to but there was nothing he could do about it. So he straightened his clothing and expression, and walked out of the bathroom as if nothing had been wrong.

 

By the time they arrived in Germany he was tired but not exhausted. The pilot welcomed them to Germany, and the single flight attendant smiled amiably at them and helped them with their bags. Tim looked around, feeling a moment of disorientation as he saw that everything around him was in German. Of course he’d known that would be the case, but it was more relieving than had been the case in Barcelona, when he hadn’t been able to read the signs fully.

 

As he looked around, he reflected on the fact that it was because of his mother that he was able to read any of this, and partially due to his mother that he was even here. Without her having taught him German when he was younger, he probably wouldn’t be fluent. And without her nominating him to the League, he wouldn’t have ever had reason or money to fly here to the country where his mother had been born.

 

Her lessons in German were one of the few fond memories he had of her. When he was young, she’d been still working on perfecting her English. She’d spoken German at home more than English and had insisted that he learn the language. Although she’d been a harsh teacher, impatient with his mistakes and very short on praise, he still remembered how intently she’d focused on him. Her long, elegant fingers shuffling through cards and pictures, trying to teach him simple words that he could repeat, and later increasing it to harder words that someone his age normally wouldn’t have been able to comprehend.

 

The small light of success that had been in her face when he’d gotten something right. The way she’d told his father that Tim would be fluent and how much further ahead of the other kids he would be. The time he’d overheard them talking and her saying that he was a quick learner and ahead of his age, and almost sounding proud of the fact.

 

She hadn’t taught him for long or particularly often, since she was often busy.

 

When his father had died, the lessons had all but died with him. By that time, the already tenuous ties with countries like Germany were broken and now that Tim thought back on it he suspected that she’d no longer wanted to admit to anything that linked her to a homeland that would not further her profession in America. Still, he’d continued learning German on his own, mostly out of love for the language but partially out of a need to see that approval from her again. A need to see something other than the expressionless or cold stare she’d so often turned his way after that.

 

Tim had retained the ability to speak German and continued to enjoy the language. He still read books in German and still wrote in the language. He had an entire notebook filled with terrible German poetry that he’d written mostly after his father died.

 

Some part of him was probably clinging to the memory of his father, and happier times when his mother spoke to him more. Times when she’d acknowledged part of his ancestry and had told him tiny bits about his family. Still, because of that, he had no troubles falling back into using the language.

 

The day passed relatively quickly. When they made it to the hotel, they were given key cards to the suite that Lucas had booked for them in anticipation of their arrival. It was one of the few towering buildings that remained with multiple levels, and their suite was toward the top.

 

Situated on one of the upper floors of the hotel, it would have been more accurate to refer to the suite as a small apartment. Everything about it was decadent and luxurious, with rich décor, smooth carpeting and a wall of windows overlooking one of the few views in the city with very little lingering damage from bombs. The curtains were whisper-soft to the touch when Tim ran his fingers down them and the large sitting area had multiple couches as well as a television with a video player. There was a cabinet which appeared to be stocked full of expensive liquor and a small fridge next to it was already filled with food. The excessive use of wealth was a little overwhelming.

 

They ended up divvying up the rooms without speaking about it. They had both hovered for a moment in the main room before Tim ended up choosing the far bedroom. They didn’t have long to wait until it was time for them to go down to the restaurant on the main floor of the hotel.

 

The dining hall continued the theme of overt wealth that he’d so far seen throughout the hotel. Chandeliers hung from the ceiling with dangling crystals that made the light sparkle. There were several tables, each carefully set with a white tablecloth, expensive-looking plates and shining sets of silverware. Couples in elegant clothing dotted the room, with the occasional group of three or four, and Tim paused just inside the room to scan the people. He knew what Lucas looked like from a picture he had in the files, but he did not see him. He was just turning to Damian to ask him if he saw Lucas when he noticed someone appear behind them.

 

It turned out that Lucas was more attractive than the image in his file. He was just over six feet tall and had a sleek muscular build that was showcased in the slim cut pants and fitted suit jacket he wore. He had undercut hairstyle, an easy, predatory grin that brought out his brown eyes and tan skin.

 

He approached them with a smile, white teeth flashing at them as his eyes slid from Tim to Damian and back again. “Hello there,” Lucas said with genuine sounding enthusiasm. “We meet again, young Wayne. But who is this young man accompanying you?” There was a hint of disappointment when he asked the next question, his eyes searching around them. “Doesn’t Grayson accompany you in this trip?”

 

Damian raised an eyebrow skeptically. “Disappointed?”

 

Lucas smiled indulgently. “Just a bit, it has been awhile since I saw Grayson.” The corners of his lips turned up and his eyes got a faraway look. “It was a good time, the last time we met.” He focused his gaze back on Damian. “Regardless, I know we had our misunderstanding when I last saw you, but let’s not dwell on it for too long.” He turned his eyes onto Tim, looking him up and down fully. “I am Lucas Trent. I welcome you to my home.”

 

“Thank you, Herr Trent,” Tim replied with a smile. Wanting to give the best impression possible to sway Lucas to their side, he switched to German for the pleasantries of a greeting and introduction. “Das ist nett von dir,” he continued with a perfect German accent. “Mein Name ist Tim Drake. Es ist ein Vergnügen, Sie zu treffen.”

 

Damian’s gaze shifted to Tim but he didn’t speak. Lucas, however, seemed delighted. His eyebrows rose as his face lit up with a grin and he slid his arm through Tim’s, guiding him over to one of the grand tables so that their backs were to Damian.

 

“ _Your German is excellent – almost native sounding_ ,” Lucas said in German, looking genuinely impressed. “ _How did you learn? School, perhaps_?”

 

Tim glanced over his shoulder at Damian before he turned his attention back to Lucas. “ _I did take some classes but I learned from my mother._ ”

 

They moved across the room and settled in a table that was tucked into an alcove in the corner. Lucas sat on the same side as Tim while Damian, who had lagged slightly behind them, sat on the other side. For the most part the senior agent maintained his non-expression but his eyes had drifted away from them again.

 

“ _Is she German, your mother?”_ Lucas asked, turning slightly toward Tim and focusing all of his attention on him.

 

“ _Yes._ ”

 

“ _Excellent._ ” Lucas’s smile turned a touch indulgent. He sat back in the chair and looked over at Damian. He observed the senior agent as Damian looked back coolly. During the interim, a waiter glided over with three glasses and a bottle of champagne.

 

“ _I find it quite amazing that your organization continues to find such beautiful specimens of masculinity to recruit,”_ Lucas said, pouring the golden liquid into their glasses after the waiter popped the cork and disappeared. “ _How very odd that I feel quite plain now, as I sit next to the two of you._ ” He purred, shifting his gaze between Damian and Tim.

 

Lucas paused with the neck of the bottle tilted towards Damian’s glass. “For you?”

 

“No.”

 

Looking unsurprised, Lucas set the champagne down in the chilled bucket and looked at Tim again. “ _Do you not find it interesting that the League only wants beautiful people?”_

 

“ _Perhaps they only send the attractive ones to you to make you believe we’re all beautiful_ ,” Tim replied with a slight smile.

 

“ _Or perhaps they know beautiful young men are my weakness_ ,” Lucas replied with a slow smile, his gaze once again sliding along Tim’s face. It moved away languidly to focus on Damian once again. “Is that not correct, Damian?”

 

Damian stared at him flatly. “Sorry, my pig Latin isn’t up to par.”

 

A smirk found its way onto Lucas’s face although his lips then pursed slightly with displeasure. His brown eyes narrowed and he arched an eyebrow, sitting back and crossing one knee over the other. “Did you tell our friend about our previous meeting, Dames?”

 

“Why don’t you do the honors?” was the flat response.

 

“Heh.” Lucas turned his body to Tim again, reaching out to sip from his glass. “ _I am not sure how long you have known Dames, but those striking features mask quite a terrible temper. He was quite cruel to me on our last meeting._ ”

 

Tim glanced briefly at Damian. Since he’d been told that Damian had insulted Lucas, he could only assume what Damian had said. Having been on the receiving end of some of Damian’s more cutting remarks himself, and considering Lucas’s reputation as being mercurial, it wasn’t a surprise if negotiations between the two had failed miserably.

 

“I could see that happening,” was all Tim said.

 

The sound of Damian’s fingers tapping against the table made an audible, staccato sound.

 

Lucas’s gaze switched to Damian and his mouth once again turned up into a smile as his gaze flicked over Damian “ _I was surprised that they were to send him again, although I have been told that he is considered the best in many capacities. A sad testament of our times when a powerful organization such as yours, must be in such desperation to rely on one such as him, who seems incapable of understanding the importance of society –_ ” Lucas’s gaze switched back to Tim and he reached out, casually pushing hair out of his eyes. “ – _and human interaction._ ”

 

Tim was mildly startled by the touch and turned his attention fully on Lucas. He wasn’t entirely sure how to respond. “ _Well,_ ” he said with a small smile after a moment, “ _we all have our talents._ ”

 

At that, Lucas’s eyebrows ticked up. “ _And what are some of yours?_ ”

 

“ _Negotiation, I suppose_ ,” Tim replied thoughtfully. “ _And strategies. I enjoy planning.”_

 

“ _Mmm. Interesting. You make quite the spy, I must say. Just like in the old movies –  the beautiful, talented agent who is known more for intelligence than brawn. I am intrigued as to how you became what you are. You seem quite young for this profession._ ”

 

“ _I am, to an extent,”_ Tim agreed with nod, keeping his expression amiable. “ _I was recruited as a possible partner for Damian. My age is atypical for my position._ ”

 

Lucas made another “hmm” sound and switched his gaze back to Damian, taking in the other man’s obvious irritation.

 

“ _A pity you were only recognized to be his partner. I can imagine you are capable of much more. Your looks, manner, your ease in talking to people – I have met many people in my time and it is not simply with kindness do I say that._ ”

 

Tim’s eyebrows raised slightly at what seemed to be a genuine compliment, although what this ‘much more’ was that Lucas was thinking he could be, he didn’t know. “ _Thank you._ ”

 

Tim glanced at Damian, noting how annoyed he looked. He determined that Lucas seemed approachable enough at this point to try to get to business. He switched back to English, deciding that flattery seemed the best way to work with a person like Lucas. “And thank you again for inviting us to visit you at your hotel. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

 

Lucas reclined in his seat and looked around, seemingly modestly. “Thank you. It took a long time to restore it to what it was pre-war. I seek to give people a place they can enjoy, a place they can find luxurious.”

 

“The attention to detail is impeccable,” Tim said in agreement. “Berlin is lucky to have a business owner such as yourself who is able to restore the glamor of the city from times that were less uncertain.” He looked around the room and let regret stain his features. “It would be a shame if there were another incident and this was all lost once again.”

 

“We will see where the world takes us next,” Lucas replied, looking around the room. His eyes rested on some of the other patrons, nodding once at a woman across the room, before he looked at them again. “Would you like to dine, or are drinks fine for now?”

 

Tim glanced at Damian before answering Lucas. “Perhaps we could discuss business over drinks.”

 

“Mmm.” Lucas had raised the glass to his lips and he took a long sip, looking at Tim as he did so. After a brief pause he raised his eyebrows and smiled, leaning forward to say quietly, “I think I would rather hear more about you tonight.”

 

Although Tim felt a sense of urgency to get the information since they had a very limited time in Germany, he didn’t want to offend Lucas. So rather than push for business talk, which he wanted to do, he let the topic be deflected. “What more is there to hear?” Tim replied with a forced faint smile.

 

Lucas reached out and squeezed Tim’s hand slightly, his smile becoming more intimate. It was almost as though they were the only two people at the table. There was an extended pause as Lucas’s dark brown eyes locked with Tim’s brown ones, as Damian stared at them on the other side of the table.

 

“ _I am sure there is much more to you than your partnership with this one.”_

 

For a moment Tim debated his response. There was no mistaking the mood Lucas had created but on the other hand it was probably in their favor that Lucas was interested in connecting on a more personal level. With negotiation, especially with people known to be capricious, it was important to build rapport. And although it would have been nice to go straight to talking about the information they needed, in truth he hadn’t expected they’d be able to get all that done right away the first night.

 

Better to let Lucas decide the flow of conversation tonight and through it get an idea about his interests and personality. Tim could use that to determine how best to get Lucas to work with them. Maybe it would end up working out like Queen Bee had, where over time she had become rather cooperative when Tim was the one contacting him.

 

The rest of the evening was spent with Lucas asking Tim about his past and other personal questions. Tim answered the questions but didn’t go into detail on anything big and didn’t mention Kon at all. He stuck to safer topics like the loss of his father at an early age or his interest in things like architecture and art.

 

Lucas became increasingly suggestive throughout the night until the flirtation was obvious. To maintain the rapport, Tim stayed mostly neutral but played into the flirting enough to remain approachable and keep the conversation going. He found that he was even starting to enjoy Lucas’s company; the man was charming and had a good sense of humor. He seemed genuinely interested in Tim as well which for the most part wasn’t something Tim was accustomed to, especially in the last several years.

 

He tried switching to English once or twice but somehow it ended up being deflected back to German each time. And soon Tim stopped remembering to think about that. It was such a pleasure to be able to converse with someone in German after so long of not using it frequently that he didn’t even realize until the end of the night that they’d hardly said a word in English.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> P/S: Did you listen to the song? :3c The next chapter will have one, too. And like this one, I stress the importance of listening to it while reading *winks*
> 
> **Next chapter:**
> 
> “What do you _want_ from me?” he burst out.
> 
> “I want you to go away,” Damian growled back, tightening his grip until his fingers were digging into Tim violently. His breath was coming fast, and he shook his head. “I was fine before you came along, and now you did this to me and I want to fucking rip your throat out so bad, and I still _can’t_ do it.”


	18. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys... *hides behind a rock* Before you guys read this, take a deep breath, prepare some tissues, comfort ice cream, pillows and a very needed stress ball. Make sure that you look on the bright side of things, too. Feels okay-ish now? Good, because you guys finally get that DamiTim moment, but you will suffer horribly for it. *pats all of you* I also have an announcement at the end, so make sure you read that, too :3

 

The next morning came too quickly for Tim’s liking and before he knew it, he was roused from his slumber by the soft rhythmic chiming of his phone. Reaching blindly for it, Tim checked the time. It was 7:00AM. He had only one hour left to prepare before a limousine was supposed to pick Damian and him up for a trip around Berlin.

 

With how comfortable the bed was, rolling out of it was a much more difficult task than Tim had anticipated. He made his way toward the common area and was surprised to see that it was still in the exact same state as they’d left it the night before. Their coats were thrown over chairs and their shoes were knocked over near a wall, but their overnight bags had been brought to their respective rooms. Although it was Tim’s experience that Damian often rose early, he hadn’t seemed to have left his room yet. Or he was already downstairs waiting and hadn't woken Tim.

 

Either way, Tim went about getting ready. He took a shower and ended up having to blow dry his hair because letting it air dry would have taken far too long. He got dressed in black slacks and a fitted grey cashmere sweater with a pinstripe dress shirt beneath, showing at the collar and wrists. He left his hair loose and checked the clock as he walked through the common room again.

 

Damian still wasn’t anywhere to be seen and they had to be downstairs within the hour.

 

Tim walked over, pausing at Damian’s bedroom door to strain his ears for any hint of movement. He didn’t hear anything but that didn’t mean much. After a moment, he knocked.

 

The door opened to reveal Damian in a pair of the faded jeans he’d gotten from the thrift store a few months ago, and one of his old t-shirts. His hair was uncombed as it usually was and he hadn’t bothered to shave.

 

“We’re supposed to be downstairs in half an hour.” Tim gestured over his shoulder. “I'm done in the bathroom.”

 

Damian looked him over, not giving much away in his expression. “I don’t see the point in going.”

 

“Why not?”

 

This earned him a flat look and Damian scoffed. “You can't really be this obtuse.”

 

Tim watched him for a moment and then sighed, looking away and pushing some hair out of his face. He supposed it didn’t matter. Damian had barely said a word the previous night, and Tim couldn’t blame him since most of the conversation had ended up in German. He didn't particularly want to be alone with Lucas all day but Damian was probably right that there wasn’t much point in him going. Especially since he had seemed very quiet and rather irritated before.

 

“I can go alone, then. It may work better that way, anyway.”

 

“I'm sure it will.”

 

Tim noted the sarcasm and shook his head. “I just meant that it was likely Trent would end up speaking German again and you’d be bored.”

 

Damian raised his eyebrows, his face going from blank to scathing. “Yes, I am sure it will be very likely since you made sure that it would end up that way.”

 

“How did I make sure of that?” Tim retorted, eyes narrowing. “I wanted to make a good impression on him and introduced myself in German to build rapport. I didn't know he was going to bring everything back to German for the rest of the conversation because of it.”

 

Damian scoffed and leaned against the door. “I would think your mother would have taught you proper manners as a child. Such as, speaking in a language that not everyone at the table can understand is ill-behaved. Or maybe you just wanted to exclude me so you wouldn’t have to bother talking to me even on a mission.”

 

“That has _nothing_ to do with this,” Tim shot back flatly, defensive anger flaring at the accusation. “Every time I tried to switch it to English, he brought it back to German.What the hell did you want me to do? Annoy him to the point that the mission fails and we both get in trouble?”

 

At that, Damian made a face. “Keep your melodrama to a minimum. Starting a mission off in a language your partner doesn’t speak sets the tone for the whole time we’re here, especially with a man who condescends to me every chance he gets, without that added disrespect.”

 

“Well, I’m sorry I’m not as versed in negotiation or building rapport as you are,” Tim said sarcastically. “Obviously your way worked so well with Trent last time. Maybe you should come with after all and show me all the things I'm doing wrong.”

 

“My way had to do with refusing to fawn all over him and encouraging him to flirt with me, so you’re right - you’re my superior in this area,” was the flat reply.

 

“As long as I get us the information, who _cares_?” Tim crossed his arms, his eyes narrowing in irritation. “I’m not going back with a failed mission because I didn’t feel like letting him smile at me or touch my hand.”

 

Damian shook his head in pure disgust as he pushed himself upright. “You’re unbelievably fucking naive.”

 

The irritation Tim had been feeling became closer to aggravation. He stepped back and glanced at the clock. He could have spent more time in the room but he wanted to get out of there. “You're staying, right?”

 

Damian didn’t respond, but he stared at Tim with the same look on his face.

 

Tim strode across the common room and grabbed his coat. He was further aggravated by having to stop and pull on his shoes rather than being able to walk outright away. He could feel Damian’s eyes on him but he didn’t look over. Not even when he left the room.

 

He shoved his fists into his jacket pockets and took the stairs down to the main lobby. His shoes made a gratifying pounding noise that echoed around him. He didn’t know why Damian always got under his skin, or why a few comments or looks from him could turn Tim from being in a perfectly fine mood to one that made him feel testy and irritable. He didn’t appreciate being called naive and he couldn’t help still feeling defensive over his choice of negotiation. How many times had they been told to do whatever it took? How many people had said that Lucas Trent was temperamental?

 

Obviously a person had to take care around him and make sure he was happy. Lucas could just tell them to leave and be done with it and they would be the ones in trouble, not Trent. He wasn’t going to risk the mission by annoying a man with that sort of reputation.

 

He made it down to the lobby fifteen minutes too early and ended up lurking in the corner, trying to get his bad mood to fade so he could be properly approachable for the day. At seven minutes until their meeting time, he walked outside and stood beneath the grand opening to the building. It wasn’t long until a black town car rolled up alongside him.The driver got out and greeted him, moving around the side to open the door.

 

Tim got into the limousine and settled into the seat as the chauffeur shut the door behind him. He looked over and saw that Lucas was seated across the vehicle.

 

“Thank you for picking me up,” Tim said politely as he leaned back in his seat.

 

“And where is your partner?” Lucas asked with raised eyebrows.

 

“He will be unable to make it today. I hope my presence alone is acceptable?”

 

Lucas stared at him for a moment before his eyes slid to the window where the hotel loomed beyond. “Did you tell him to stay behind, or did he decide to?”

 

“A little of both, I suppose,” Tim said with a slight frown as he considered the question.

 

“I see.” Lucas leaned back in his seat and looked at the driver. “ _Go_ ,” he said in German.

 

Tim watched Lucas for a moment. The man seemed unusually serious. He wondered if Lucas was trying to figure out what this turn of events meant, or whether he’d wanted Damian to be there and was disappointed by the lack of his presence. “I could call him and ask him to join us after all if you’d like,” he offered.

 

The car began gliding down the street as Lucas waved off the comment. “That will not be necessary. Perhaps it is just as well. He was quite jealous.”

 

Tim’s eyebrow quirked up slightly at that. “Jealous?” _More like pissed off,_ he thought to himself. “What makes you think that?”

 

Lucas gave Tim a sidelong glance. “Surely you must have noticed.”

 

“I confess, I was paying more attention to you than my partner.” It was true enough. By the time the conversation had grown more involved and Lucas had started flirting openly with him, he’d been so distracted with how to reply that he hadn’t thought to glance over at Damian again.

 

Lucas’ lips curved into a smile and he reached out to turn Tim’s face so that their eyes met fully. “Is that so?”

 

“It is,” Tim said, forcing himself to smile in return.

 

“Hmm.” Lucas extended one of his fingers and slid it along Tim’s cheek. His fingertip moved down to ghost over Tim’s mouth before he dropped his hand and sat back. “I was not surprised that he is jealous. You are something I would be possessive of myself.”

 

“You flatter me.” Tim let the smile linger on his lips. His gaze rested on Lucas for a moment, not letting his thoughts get to his face. Then he slid his gaze away to lookout the window.

 

He wondered how much of what Lucas said was the truth and how much was simply his nature. Tim didn’t consider himself to be a particularly amazing catch, but then perhaps that was because so many people responded negatively to the way he looked and acted. It was strange to feel the gentle caresses and be told such things so casually, and yet there was a part of him that craved it. That didn’t want to be pushed away or put down. That wanted to feel loved and accepted like he hadn’t since the only two people who had ever loved him had been killed. But thinking of that only brought him down the wrong path like it had far too often the last two weeks.

 

He shoved the memories firmly out of his mind, knowing full well they would come back with a vengeance later. They always did. They always knew how to wear down his control. How to plague him until he faltered, and swarm on him until he gave in. “Where are we going today?” Tim asked, pleased to hear that his voice came out as merely curious. He wanted to change the subject in his mind and the conversation. He didn’t like the uncomfortable vulnerability he felt toward the idea of someone that didn’t want to hurt him.

 

“Anywhere you want.”

 

Since Tim was interested in history and architecture, they mostly drove through the city. They visited several of the monuments that still existed in the area, and stopped at a beautiful park that managed to survive the bombs. The wind was light and a little cold, but the day was pleasant enough.

 

Tim and Lucas talked as they went around and despite everything Tim found himself slowly relaxing around the other man; not even realizing that it was happening for the most part. Lucas was conversational and more intelligent than Tim had initially assumed he would be based on the rumors. He knew enough about the history of the different locations that Tim felt comfortable asking questions. Tim was content with simply looking at the architecture of the buildings but after they stopped for lunch he found himself growing curious about the damage the war had wrought and how Berlin had started to recover.

 

Lucas had the chauffeur bring them to a luxurious coffee shop, overlooking the _Unter den Linden_ , which still somehow managed to survived despite the bombings fairly intact and the damaged parts were rebuilt shortly after. Tim saw that the Germans had gotten about as far as the Americans had in Gotham with reconstruction. As he looked down the wealthy street and saw the destruction in the distance, he was reminded of the Financial District back home. He wondered how much life differed here compared to where he’d grown up, and what it all would have been like had his family been in his mother’s home country rather than his parents moving to the United States.

 

They ended up sitting at a table with the best view of the beautiful walk, the midday gentle breeze carried with it leaves from the trees on the sidelines. The tables were small, best suited for two people at most. The streets were so different to Tim than they were in the United States; back home there was a clear distinction between pedestrian areas and vehicular areas. Here, at least by this coffee shop, everything seemed to blend together on the same grade, with streets that were aesthetically pleasing to the eye. It lent a very integrated feel to the semi pedestrian part of the neighborhood.

 

Most of the tables were full in the cafe, creating a quiet lull in the background. Tim ordered his food and looked around as Lucas did the same. There seemed to be a good mix of locals and visitors at the cafe and there was enough pedestrian traffic that Tim had something interesting to watch.

 

“You spoke of your mother yesterday,” Lucas said after a moment, turning to Tim. “Did she not tell you anything of her home country?”

 

Tim shook his head, returning his gaze to Lucas. “Nearly everything I know about Germany, I learned in a book. I have some memories from when I was small of her talking about Hamburg but it's so vague I’m not even certain it wasn’t a dream.”

 

Lucas nodded, his lips pulled back in a pensive line, his brown eyes took a faraway look. “From what little I gather, it seems there exists a distance between you and your mother, similar to that between my Father and I.” He said, his fingers traced idle water circles on the table.

 

“Is that so?” The League’s information on Lucas Trent’s father was spotty at best. It was implied that there was a fallout between him and Lucas before Lucas abruptly became a federal agent. Musing on the information he already knew of Lucas’ past, Tim’s eyes focused on him. “Did something happen to cause it?” He asked.

 

Lucas’ lips twisted in a humorless smile. “He never liked my way of dealing with things.” He said calmly, resting his gaze on Tim.

 

“And what way is that?”

 

“Expulsions from school for inspiring rebellions, leading adults to believe... anything I wanted, and of course, seducing my male tutors.”

 

Tim raised his eyebrows, an amused smile playing on his lips. “Tutors, plural? How many of them did you seduce?”

 

Lucas smirked and leaned forward conspiratorially. “Enough of them to ensure he hired women in the future. Although I _suppose_ the elderly gentleman didn’t fall for my charms.”

 

Tim couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. “ _You._.. are a dangerous man, Herr Trent.”

 

“You don’t even know half of it,” Lucas practically purred. He slid his fingers over Tim’s hand and moved them over it in a light caress. He didn’t stop even as he continued to speak. “My father did not appreciate the embarrassment that I brought to his name. He always held some distaste for my temperament as a child. It is unfortunate that my mother died when I was quite young. I fear I never quite knew the love of a parent properly - perhaps this is why I have always looked in other places.”

 

Tim found himself starting to speak, having to clear his throat quietly. He looked back down at their hands, feeling a temptation to turn his palm to Lucas’s to implicitly accept the flirtation. He ignored the urge, although his fingers did twitch. “My mother...” He frowned, his eyebrows lowering further, and he met Lucas’s eyes again. He didn’t move his hand, finding himself hoping that Lucas didn’t withdraw that gentle caress any time soon. “My mother was the same. She’s never fully approved of me. I used to try so hard to be worthy of her praise but I have almost no recollection of it ever happening.” He shook his head, his lips tilting on the edges bitterly. “Of course, when it became apparent that I was not heterosexual, it didn’t help my standing in her eyes.”

 

“We are much alike, you and I,” Lucas observed. “Perhaps that is why I feel drawn to you and not because you are gorgeous.”

 

“Perhaps,” Tim replied, his eyes remaining on Lucas. He fell silent, taking in the way the other man was watching him. Given Lucas’s reputation he’d been worried about getting on Lucas’s good side. For all that Damian had criticized Tim’s approach, it seemed that he’d succeeded. But despite that, all the times he’d tried to bring up business in varying ways, Lucas had always sidestepped or deflected the topic. It was growing worrisome; they had limited time in Germany. He let out a quiet breath and looked away with drawn eyebrows. So far Lucas seemed to respond most positively to the truth so that’s what he said. “Lucas, I don’t mean to be rude but we have to return to the States tomorrow and I’m growing worried about having to go back empty-handed. I’d really like the chance to discuss work with you. Could we do that?”

 

Lucas patted his hand, and sat up straight. “Yes, but not now. I would like to invite you to my home this evening.”

 

Tim’s gaze hovered on Lucas. There was no question that Lucas was attracted to him and yet until this suggestion, the flirtation had been mild and always in public. Being alone in the man’s house could possibly make things turn to a different direction, and that made him hesitate. Still, there was no guarantee anything would happen. And if anything did start happening that he didn’t want, he could just say no. In the meantime, Lucas had finally agreed to talking business so that was a definite step in the right direction. “Of course,” Tim replied with a smile. “What time would you like me over?”

 

“I have some things to attend to after lunch,” Lucas replied, looking over as the waitress returned with their lunch. “I will drop you off at the hotel and return this evening. Please do explain to your partner where you will be, so he does not think I have abducted you and proceed to then rip apart the hotel.”

 

“I will,” Tim assured Lucas. Lunch passed without incident and it wasn’t long until they got back into the town car and headed toward the hotel. When he got to the hotel room, he wondered whether Damian would even be there. He opened the door and glanced around the common room for his partner. He saw that Damian was sitting on the edge of the couch, ipad in hand as he skimmed through something on it rapidly. His lips were pursed and he didn’t look entirely pleased with whatever he was doing. Tim shut the door behind him and took his jacket off as he walked across the room. “Did something happen?” he asked, tilting his chin toward Damian’s ipad. Although he hadn’t received any notices from the League about any changes in the mission, it was possible Damian had.

 

Damian looked over at him, gaze lingering for a moment before switching back to the computer. “I have a mission when we return.” Tim nodded in understanding and threw the jacket on the back of a chair, on top of his trench coat.

 

“Just you?”

 

“Yes. Rank 10 mission.” Damian turned off the panel and dropped it on the table beside the couch, standing up. He turned and observed Tim.

 

Tim nodded again and dropped onto the couch. He let his legs stretch out in front of him and leaned back, taking a moment to relax. He let out a low breath, closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the couch. After a moment, Tim opened his eyes and sat up. “Before we can end up splitting up for any reason, I wanted to let you know you’ll have the room to yourself for awhile tonight.”

 

Damian had been about to go into his room but he stopped completely and turned. “Why is that?”

 

“I’ll be at Lucas’s.”

 

There was a stretch of silence as Damian stared at him for a longer period of time. His eyes narrowed slightly. “Why are you going to his house?”

 

Tim watched Damian silently for a moment and then leaned forward, bracing his forearms on his knees. “He wouldn’t talk business today but he said he would if I came over. We only have until tomorrow to get what we need, so...” He shrugged and trailed off.

 

Damian’s eyes narrowed further and he brought a hand up to briefly rub his forehead. He started to turn again, stopped, and then said, “You shouldn’t go.”

 

“If I don’t, how are going to get what we need?” Tim shook his head. “We’re running out of time. I’ll just go over, get the information, and come back. I’m only telling you so you don’t wonder where I am.”

 

“And you think it’s going to be as simple as that?” Damian asked, raising his eyebrows and staring down at Tim without expression.

 

“No but what does it matter?” Tim asked rhetorically. “He said he’d talk to me if I came over so that’s what I’m going to do. Besides, after spending so much time with him I have an idea of how he works. I’ll use that to figure out how to get what we need so I can stop worrying about it.”

 

“If you had have an idea of how he works, then you’re aware that there’s a good chance he’ll want you to fuck him for it.”

 

“Obviously that’s a possibility,” Tim said simply with a shrug. “I’m not going over planning on that. I just want him to talk. But you heard General Kent – you know how important this information is. We can’t go back without it.”

 

There was a long silence as Damian stared at him incredulously. “So you’d actually do it then?”

 

“I don’t know,” Tim said honestly. “I’m going to make plans for how to get him to talk. But we’re quickly running out of time and if nothing works, if he won’t listen to me and it’s a question between that or going home with nothing –” His eyes narrowed and he looked away. Clark’s words were strong in his mind; _to do whatever it took to get this_. That he couldn’t stress the importance of this enough. “I don’t know,” he said again. “I guess I have to plan for the possibility of that happening, too.”

 

Damian’s lips parted but no sound came out at first. A flash of anger crossed his face and mingled with the surprise that was evident. “Did it ever occur to you to say _fuck the mission_ , or do you actually want to bend over for that piece of garbage?”

 

“Fuck the mission and then what?” Tim shot back. “Go back to the League and tell them sorry, I didn’t try hard enough? They wouldn’t let that pass. And – ” He remembered his mother, her cold eyes staring him down after she’d brought him into her office on his first failed mission. Her threat that the League had ways of making agents usable again. She knew what would hurt him most; what would terrify him beyond anything else. She knew and she would use that information. He was still trying to get over the shock from Conner’s necklace suddenly reappearing in his life. If they did that too – His jaw tightened and his expression set in resolve. He wasn’t going to let that happen. “If a mission fails, it’s not going to be because of me.”

 

“You’re a goddamn idiot,” Damian growled out, looking disgusted. “If you don’t listen to me, for the first fucking time, you’re going to regret it.”

 

“If you have a magical answer to getting the information from Trent tonight short of working this angle then by all means, tell me,” Tim said impatiently, growing frustrated with the way Damian constantly attacked everything he did. “I’d love to hear it. But if you’re just going to tell me I’m doing the wrong thing and offer no other solution aside from failing the mission then I don’t know what to tell you. I can’t do that. I’m bringing the information back with us somehow.”

 

“You can’t do that,” Damian scoffed. “Mommy isn’t going to terminate you, you fucking moron. What are you scared of, a trip to the Fourth? _Man up_. Who cares? Have some dignity instead of being so quick to stoop to the lowest level just to please the fucking League.”

 

“Man up?” Tim demanded incredulously. He stood up, his eyes narrowing into a glare. “Do you even –” He cut himself off, a wave of anger burning through him. His teeth grit and he stared coldly, holding a hand up palm out to Damian. “You know what? Just – _Don’t_. Don’t try to pretend you know me. Or her. You have no idea what she will and will not do to me.”

 

“And you obviously don’t know shit about me if you think I haven’t been tortured in every possible way at the League, and I still wouldn’t _ever_ become their little prostitute,” Damian replied acidly. “But go ahead, have fun.”

 

Tim’s jaw set and for a long moment, all he could do was glaring at Damian. Anger, indignation, and frustration warred within him until everything simply got too much and he found himself unable to speak even one word. Finally, he abruptly turned his back against Damian. “I can’t talk to you right now.” He gritted out. He was too sick with anger. He felt like he would speak the wrong words if he was provoked one more time.

 

“That’s fine, I don’t want to speak with you, either.” Damian shot back, his lips twisted into a vicious scowl. “Because I'm fucking done with you. This is the second time I tried to help you, and the second time I completely regret the effort.”

 

That’s it!

 

“Stop acting all high and mighty! You know what! I know about your _precious_ brother!” (1) Tim’s head snapped back, watching Damian’s eyes widen slightly. Spurted on, Tim continued. “He was a Valentine agent, wasn’t he? Richard Grayson, isn’t it? You act so high and mighty but your brother was the one _actually_ sleeping for information, wasn’t he? Stop judging! I didn’t plan on sleeping with Trent! I bet your brother would have done _that_ though.”

 

The moment the words left Tim’s lips, he knew that he had overstepped his boundaries. He didn’t know what possessed him to say such things. All he had wanted was to hurt Damian just as much as he had hurt Tim by implying that Tim was a prostitute. Damian had gone absolutely quiet, his body tensing up like a coiled snake, ready to attack. “Damian, I --” Tim tried.

 

Hands immediately wrapped around Tim’s neck in a vice grip. It looked like Damian was barely in control. He could tighten his grip at any moment and Tim wouldn’t have been able to -- Tim would die if Damian tightened the grip. Tim couldn’t move and in the back of his mind, fear slowly crawled its way back to life. His breathing quickened, all the while trying not to spook Damian even more.

 

“You. Do. Not. Get. To. Talk. About. My. Brother.” Damian snarled. “Don’t say shit you don’t understand. You will only come off as ignorant and an asshole.” He said, his eyes burned bright with hatred. “Fuck you! Get out of my sight!” He snapped, throwing Tim out of the door and slamming it shut.

 

Tim stumbled out a few steps, using the wall to steady himself. Dammit. He messed it up. Why did he even say something like that?

 

“Dammit.” Tim rubbed his throat, feeling the tender skin, coughing. He rubbed his face, trying to regain his breathing. He placed his hand on the door, intending to apologize but words just wouldn’t form. Finally, Tim decided to apologize to Damian later when he came back from Lucas’ place. What he said was out of line... He was just too angry and --

 

The mission. Focus.

 

The wall supported Tim’s weight as he leaned forward, his fingers digging into his hair as he squeezed his eyes shut. Damian’s words earlier about being a prostitute echoed in his head, jumbled by Clark’s and his mother’s and he didn’t know what to think. What to feel. What was he supposed to do? He didn’t want to have sex with Lucas but he couldn’t walk away from all this. He couldn’t go back to the League with nothing-- not when the General had said straight out that they had to do anything it took. He couldn’t walk away from the League or his responsibilities. He couldn’t disappoint his mother. The consequences of failing...

 

His chest tightened at the thought-- at the memory of pain lancing up his arms from his wrists; his own screams echoing around him and the darkness closing in on every side. Terror eclipsing everything else to the point that he didn’t even know anymore what was a dream from that time and what was a horrible mockery of reality. The memories of Kon’s murder that wouldn’t leave him and the knowledge every time he’d slept and woken that he was alone-- left completely alone and without any recourse and no one would care and no one would help him --

 

His eyes squeezed shut harder and he let out a harsh breath, his mouth falling open as he curled inward. No, no, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t. He didn’t care what he had to do to avoid that; he would do it.

 

Even so, Damian’s words continued to haunt him. He thought about Damian commenting on trying to help him twice. It could only be referring to the necklace-- to Jared. It was the only thing that made sense to Tim. Guilt and confusion were nearly suffocating at the thought. He knew they needed to talk about that all-- but it was so hard for him.

 

Did Damian really regret it?

 

Did he regret anything he’d done or tried to do for Tim?

 

He didn’t want those words to cut him so deeply-- _I’m fucking done with you,_ and, _completely regret the effort._ He didn’t know what to do. He knew Damian was angry with him, he understood that probably part of it was related to their distance the past two weeks contrasted to how friendly he’d been to Lucas and not to mention that he had just compared Damian’s brother to a sex worker ( _Not right now! Focus! The mission!_ ).

 

But what was he supposed to do? Why couldn’t Damian understand? These were things he’d been burying for so long, things that had nearly killed him in the past, and in less than two weeks he was expected to be able to get over it and talk rationally about something he’d never even brought up? Something Damian somehow had found out on his own and suddenly shoved in his face?

 

Just because Damian could take any torture and not budge didn’t mean everyone else was the same. Just because Damian thought a trip to the Fourth was doable didn’t mean the very prospect of it couldn’t terrify Tim. Especially with the imaginings made more vivid by memories recently stirred up, like dirt at the bottom of a lake. Clouding everything that used to be so clear.

 

And just because Damian thought he knew everything about the League didn’t mean he understood Tim’s mother, or the resolve she could have about her work. Damian was so confident she wouldn’t have him terminated but he hadn’t grown up with her. He didn’t know how she could be.

 

The thing was… The notion that he would have sex with Lucas was something only Damian came up with. It was certainly a possibility, but so was the alternative. Tim didn’t think that it would come to that anyway. Perhaps it would be some intense flirting and in the end, he could come home with the information. And Damian could mock him all he wanted but in the end, what was one night with a man who at least was charming compared to possibly weeks in the alternative?

 

If he could only succeed in this, everything would be okay. Even _assuming_ they had sex tonight, he would be in an entirely different country from Lucas tomorrow so their one night together wouldn’t matter anyway. The League would be happy with the outcome and they could all move on. It’s not like he planned to make this a regular occurrence; the desperate measures would be only for this one extreme case and he could go back to his life the way it had always been before. No harm done.

 

He told himself that but he couldn’t forget the look of disgust on Damian’s face. Or what he had implied about his brother…

 

By the time he had to head downstairs, he was almost relieved despite the ominous feeling he’d developed about the night. He just needed to get out of there. He just needed to get away. He didn’t see Damian for the rest of his preparation time, a fact he was grateful for. He didn’t know what he would have said and he didn’t want to have to see whatever expression Damian would level his way. He was already a little uneasy about what may end up happening at Lucas’s but it didn’t shake his resolve to avoid the terror that otherwise would likely await him.

 

He took the stairs on the way down so he had more time to school his expression and loosen the tension in his shoulders. He didn’t want to let on to Lucas that he was distracted or worried. He had to focus on getting the information. In order to do that he needed to be clear-headed so he could notice any shifts in Lucas’s mood that he could take advantage of.

 

He was glad to see the driver had been sent alone to pick him up. It gave him more time to prepare. To think. He walked across the sidewalk, the cold cutting through him harshly. He’d left his coat behind and the wind was just as icy here as back home. After getting in, he sat in the back, his expression blank and his mind anything but as he watched the city flash by outside the tinted windows.

 

The driver brought him to an avenue, expensive looking. The building they pulled up to was beautiful from the front; brick with white trim and almost looking more like it belonged on part of an old estate or mansion rather than being luxury apartments.

 

Lucas lived on the highest floor and when Tim was let inside, he took in the apartment. He had to admit it was beautiful. Less ostentatious than the hotel, the apartment had hardwood floors with tall ceilings, warm cream walls, and dark trim. There were two floors, as evidenced by the large open area where the second floor was cut away almost like a balcony looking down on the first floor. It made it feel like a luxury loft. Continuing that theme were the floor to ceiling windows along one side. The only chandelier he saw was hanging from the second story in the open living room area, about even with the first floor’s ceiling. The apartment was spacious, the furniture was tasteful but obviously expensive, and it looked well lived in.

 

“Welcome,” Lucas’s voice called from somewhere further in. He appeared moments later, wearing an indigo v-neck shirt that fit tight against his toned arms and chest, and black pants that were obviously fitted to his body. It was the most casual that Tim had seen him so far, which was further enhanced by Lucas’s bare feet and tousled hair. “I thank you for coming, once again.”

 

“Thank you the invitation,” Tim replied as he walked further into the apartment, toward Lucas. He looked over at the windows covering the wall. “You have a very nice apartment.” He gestured out the windows and meant it when he said, “Even at night, the view is amazing.”

 

“I enjoy beautiful things.” Lucas’s lips curved into a grin and ran his hands over Tim’s arms briefly. “And you, my beautiful, are frozen. Would you like some wine to warm up?”

 

“Sure.”

 

Lucas moved to a mahogany cabinet and opened the door, pulling out glasses. He took them to a glass coffee table where there was a waiting bottle of wine. He filled both, and glanced over at Tim. “Make yourself comfortable.”

 

“Thank you.” A large sectional couch curved around the coffee table. Tim sat down, finding it to be surprisingly comfortable. He picked up a glass of wine, the liquid seeming a rich burgundy hue in the lighting. He held the glass carefully so as not to spill and leaned back, hearing the quiet crinkling of the fabric as it settled around him.

 

Everything felt warm and inviting. The impression was furthered by licks of flame in the electric fireplace he hadn’t noticed before, set nearby within the wall. He watched the fire for a moment as he took a sip of the wine, the taste of it filling his mouth and warming his tongue. He looked over at Lucas and smiled, hoping to take control of the conversation from the start. “I was pleased when you told me earlier you were interested in discussing our mutual acquaintances. The Court has been a growing concern for us and we’re very grateful for any help you would be willing to give. After all, you’re something of an expert on the topic.”

 

“Expert?” Lucas held his glass contemplatively and frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps. It was not always this way, though. At one time I was just a novice, barely understanding my place in it all.” It was more than Lucas had said about anything related to work so far so Tim took to the topic.

 

“As I understand it, you got into the business when you were eighteen?”

 

“Mnm,” Lucas took a sip and crossed one knee over the other, his gaze moving to the window. “I started my training to be a federal agent when I was eighteen. They noticed me since I had a lot of promises. One thing led to another and here I am, a freelance informant,” He opened his hands wide, shrugging his shoulder.

 

Tim watched Lucas thoughtfully. “What was it like?”

 

A small smile quirked across Lucas’s lips and he raised an eyebrow. “To say they did not know what to expect from me would be accurate. To them I was but a child trying to involve myself in affairs that were better left out of my reach. They did not respect me, even when I began to work for them.”

 

Tim smiled faintly, although the expression was more contemplative than anything. He could understand that feeling to an extent. “What did you do?”

 

“I refused to give up.” Lucas turned to Tim on the sofa and tilted his head thoughtfully, as if he were remembering back to that time. “That world, well, it was something that intrigued me. For so long I felt as though I was without purpose and this thing-- this _strange_ thing that I do, it gives me purpose. After quite some time, they finally began to admire my tenacity.”

 

Tim nodded and took a sip of wine as he thought about what Lucas said. His eyes were drawn to the fire; to the flickering flames that were incapable of settling. He wondered if he would ever get to the point of feeling a purpose in any of this. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt that he was only at the League while he waited for something to change. While he waited, most likely, to die. He didn’t feel any purpose in his life aside from being in a state of in-between, and the occasional time when something drew his attention enough for him to be intrigued. But those moments always faded and he was left once more to disinterest. Apathy that recently had been struggling to keep in check all the dark thoughts it had grown to hide. “Did you feel that way right away?” he was unable to stop himself from asking. His eyes flicked over to Lucas. “Having a purpose?”

 

“Mmm,” Lucas set his wine glass down and rested his arm on the back of the sofa. A low laugh escaped his throat and he shook his head slightly. “No, at first it was a game. Perhaps like bungee jumping. It kept me busy and gave me a thrill, but I did not truly expect to become so immersed and to eventually care.”

 

Tim nodded again and shifted on the couch so he was turned more toward Lucas. He tilted his head slightly, studying the other man thoughtfully. “What drew you away from working solely with the federal agency? Why did you become an informant?”

 

One of Lucas’s hands began absently sifting through Tim’s hair as he pondered the question. After awhile he said, “I did not like the idea of putting all of my eggs in one basket, as they say. Perhaps that’s very greedy of me, but I like the thrill of playing for every team,” there was a soft laugh. “That tendency did not carry itself to my sex life though.”

 

“It must have been a trying time, when you were learning the ways and who to trust,” Tim said thoughtfully. He didn’t react to the fingers threading through his hair, letting Lucas do as he pleased. “Did anyone take you under their wing and help you out?”

 

“Not at all,” Lucas said with another of his intimate smiles. “And what of you?”

 

Tim was disappointed but not entirely surprised by the subject change. “Not at first. Things are changing over time, though.”

 

“Dames did not guide you?” Lucas asked, eyebrows ticking up slightly. “Is he not an agent of some high degree?”

 

“He is but he wasn’t interested in being my partner,” Tim replied with an unconcerned shrug. “In the beginning I think he was simply amusing himself seeing how long it would take for me to fail or for something to happen to me.”

 

“How unfortunate.” A frown marred Lucas’s expression and his hands slid up to glide down the side of Tim’s face. “It would have been quite terrible if I would have never been able to meet you.”

 

Tim smiled. “I doubt it would have mattered. You wouldn’t have known what you were missing, right?”

 

Lucas let his fingers move down to trace the side of Tim’s mouth. “Perhaps that would have been the worst part.”

 

They spoke for awhile longer before Lucas invited Tim to the other room for dinner. Over time Tim learned that Lucas had made it himself, which somewhat surprised Tim, who had expected him to have hired help for everything. He commented on how good the food was and Lucas seemed pleased by the compliment.

 

During dinner the conversation flowed in different directions a few times. Tim continued to bring it back to work in different ways at first, attempting to get Lucas to follow through on his promise. Lucas bypassed the topic at first and then implied it would be better not to talk of such business over food. Tim nodded and they went back to talking about nothing particularly important, dotted throughout with questions about their personal lives.

 

Afterward, they ended up on the couch again. Tim wasn’t used to drinking so much in one day. Despite dinner to balance it out, he started to notice the effects of the alcohol on his system. His body felt warm; his blood buzzed pleasantly through him. His head was starting to feel clouded and once or twice he found himself saying a little more than he’d intended. Giving a few more details than he normally would.

 

He had enough wits about him to try to talk about work, or the Court, or Lucas’s time as he grew into his job. He asked about Lucas’s life, how he knew about the Court, whether anyone had ever visited his house. He tried to be straightforward and remind Lucas that he’d said he would talk about work. He tried many angles but every time somehow the conversation turned away before Tim got anything of value.

 

At times he set his glass down on the table with the intention of no longer drinking any more. Lucas kept refilling his glass, and it took him a bit to realize that because of that he was drinking more than he thought he was.

 

As time went on, Lucas’s flirtation grew more pronounced. He moved closer to Tim, sitting near enough to him that the heat of their bodies felt trapped between them. He touched Tim more as well, with the brush of his fingertips or press of his hand lingering. Becoming bolder.

 

Tim started to grow confused; influenced by the pleasant burn of alcohol in his system, the muted warmth of the fireplace, and the heat of Lucas’s skin brushing against his.

 

It seemed like Lucas’s face grew so much closer over time, those handsome features focusing solely on hm. He wasn’t accustomed to being the center of anyone’s attention in a manner that was so positive and prolonged. Lucas murmured words of encouragement and praise and compliments; flattering Tim yet seeming genuine about it. As if he truly did think Tim was worth something and he was pleased to have met him.

 

Without fully realizing what he was doing, Tim started to tilt his head slightly into Lucas’s touch. He was feeling the comfort of someone who had nothing but gentle touches and words for him. It was such a contrast to what he was used to that it worked its way into the buzz from the wine. Infecting his blood and his thoughts.

 

He thought he was being diligent and mindful but somewhere along the line, things spun away from him. Despite the many times he’d tried to redirect the conversation, he wasn’t getting anywhere. Around the time Lucas’s hand slid along his thigh, Tim realized it was very late at night. Midnight had already long passed them by and he hadn’t gotten anything they needed.

 

Time was running incredibly short.

 

As that thought crossed his mind, Lucas leaned in to kiss him. Tim automatically drew back, keeping their faces mere inches apart. He could feel Lucas’s breath, warm against his lips, and their eyes locked.

 

Tim couldn’t read much except desire in Lucas’s brown eyes. His thoughts were muddled and confused. The one thought that he couldn’t ignore was that maybe Lucas hadn’t given him any information yet because he hadn’t been responding to his obvious attraction. Maybe he wouldn’t follow through unless Tim followed through himself.

 

He’d had time to think about what he would do in this circumstance and the wine made him feel pleasant, lacking his typical over-analysis. He’d run out of time and options. So when Lucas’s eyelashes lowered and he leaned in again, this time Tim didn’t pull away.

 

Their lips met; an almost gentle caress at first that slowly built. Tim hadn’t kissed anyone, hadn’t touched anyone other than Kon. Lucas’s lips were soft and the taste of them seemed strange and unfamiliar. That sentiment was echoed in the unfamiliar slide of a hand along his leg, and the feel of Lucas’s other hand tangling in his hair at the nape of his neck.

 

The oddity of the situation was fast overcome by the power of a sensual touch after so long. The body he’d forsaken awoke at Lucas’s hands, aided by the burn of alcohol in his system. His breath caught when Lucas’s lips slid along his jaw and centered on his neck. All the times Lucas had touched him before it had felt gentle or warm but that was it; there wasn’t the electric tingle that sucked away his thoughts like when Damian brushed his bare skin with calloused fingertips. But with Lucas focused so fully on him, and under the expert maneuverings of his hands, Tim felt desire stir inside him and grow.

 

Lucas’s lips returned to Tim’s and their kiss deepened until Tim felt the moist slide of a tongue against his lips. He parted his mouth and learned quite quickly that Lucas was an amazing kisser.

 

Before he knew it, he was letting out breathless moans, his eyes falling shut as his body automatically arched against Lucas’s. Tim could feel Lucas’s erection through their clothing; hard and moving against him. It made him moan deeply, which became a gasping groan when Lucas slid his hand beneath Tim’s pants and started kneading his half-hard cock. Tim’s head jerked back and he gripped Lucas’s arms; his mouth falling open as he breathed heavily. He could feel Lucas’s lips smile against his skin.

 

For a moment all Tim could do was moan helplessly, his fingers digging into Lucas’s shirt as he jerked his hips up against Lucas’s skillful hand. His body was an instrument that Lucas played to perfection; rising him up to a crescendo and stopping just before the climax. Tim didn’t even realize when he’d been moved to lay back on the couch, his legs splayed open with Lucas kneeling between them, rolling his body against Tim’s increasingly quickly. But when Lucas’s hand shifted and moved for his shirt, Tim snapped back to attention enough to grab his wrist.

 

He shook his head, his eyes half closed but still intent on Lucas. It took a second for his voice to work through his throat and when it did, it came out husky but firm. “Not the shirt. Or underneath.”

 

If Lucas thought the condition was odd, he didn’t let it show. His hand moved away and he returned to kissing Tim deeply. Their tongues worked against each other, filling Tim’s mouth with Lucas’s taste. Tim could feel Lucas’s hands working on his pants and soon Lucas drew away. He sat up, his lips reddened from kissing and face flushed with desire. His hair was messy and his eyes seemed especially intense as he took in Tim sprawled beneath him.

 

Lucas shifted and he moved back along the couch, his hands running along Tim’s thighs and down his knees, his shins, until he pulled off his shoes and socks. His fingers pushed up beneath the hem of Tim’s pant legs briefly, playing along the bones of his ankles. Then his hands were moving, pressing back up Tim’s legs and skimming the waistband of his pants. Dipping below to brush the hair from Tim’s navel that disappeared beneath the pants.

 

It seemed as though Lucas took enjoyment in every part of this. Even with his erection pressing against his pants, he seemed to be in no hurry to get straight to the act of sex. Being able to feel Tim and unclothe him at his own speed seemed to give him some sense of satisfaction on its own. Nimble fingers unfastened Tim’s pants, laying them open to show his underwear beneath. Lucas’s eyes were centered on Tim’s groin and the shape of his cock that he could see through the stretch of the fabric.

 

Lucas pushed the underwear down under Tim’s balls, allowing his half hard cock to spring free. Long fingers slid around his cock, with just the right pressure and speed as he started to masturbate him. Tim gasped and twisted beneath Lucas; his body arching into the touch and his hands digging into the cushion and back of the couch. His hips jerked and he rocked up into Lucas’s hand, breathless moans escaping him with increasing urgency.

 

When Tim thought it couldn’t feel better, Lucas moved his thumb to the head of Tim’s cock and played with the slit; rubbing in a motion that made Tim groan loudly with an, “Ah-- Ahh!” Just as Tim felt himself teetering on the edge of control, Lucas’s hands disappeared.

 

Tim panted heavily, his eyes opening enough to stare through dusty eyelashes down his body. Lucas was watching him with the intensity of an artist his muse, crouched between Tim’s splayed legs. Tim started to bring one hand down to his erection to finish but Lucas’s hands were a gentle rebuke; twining his fingers around Tim’s and pushing his hand away.

 

He didn’t say anything but the desire in Lucas’s eyes and the tilt of his lips clearly said, _‘Let me.’_

Hands moved along Tim’s body again, this time hooking beneath his pants and underwear and pulling them down. Inch by torturous inch, Tim’s body was bared to the room. He tried to help Lucas, alternately lifting his hips and his legs so Lucas could slide it all off him. Lucas wasn’t moving that slowly but it felt like forever when all Tim wanted to do was finish the rise of the orgasm clawing at his stomach and tightening his balls.

 

When Tim was naked except for his shirt, Lucas returned to the space between Tim’s legs. Tim’s knees were drawn up and tilted open, giving Lucas a perfect view of his body as he looked down. His hands rested on Tim’s knees, sliding up and down along his thighs and pushing them open even more. His gaze took in Tim’s erection, straining at the air below the crumpled hem of his button-down shirt, and traveled up to center on his face.

 

“Look at you,” Lucas murmured, his lips lifting into a satisfied smile. “Flushed and waiting.”

 

He ran his hands down to the hollow where Tim’s bare thighs met his hips. Lucas’s thumbs rubbed near the curl of hair at the base of Tim’s cock. Tim moaned quietly, his cock twitching, and Lucas’s hands shifted away again.

 

The cushion of the couch depressed beneath Lucas’s weight as he braced his hands on either side of Tim’s face. He leaned down to kiss and nuzzle against Tim’s cheek. “You are so perfect, _Grayson_ ,” he breathed into Tim’s ear. “If I could capture this moment...”

 

There was a pause as Tim’s chest rose and fell beneath Lucas’s. His muddled mind blocked out the name Grayson because it didn’t make sense in the situation. Their bodies were nearly touching but not quite. Lucas kissed him again on the cheek and then slid off him, standing at the side of the couch. Tim looked at him questioningly but before he could say anything, Lucas had his hand held out and smiled. “Come.”

 

Tim watched him a second and then held his hand up, letting Lucas pull him off the couch to a stand. They stepped around the coffee table, where Lucas paused to pull a condom and a bottle of lube out of a discreet drawer. There was a rug laid out in front of the fireplace and Lucas pushed Tim down until he laid on his back. The warmth of the fireplace surrounded him, rolling over him in waves while the rug against his bare skin felt decadent.

 

Tim felt lost in the moment; drugged from the heat, the wine, and the need to fulfill the desire that had been building steadily within him.

 

The sound of the condom wrapper being ripped open was muffled beneath words Lucas murmured in German that Tim barely listened to. He lay back against the rug, his head tilted and eyes burning down his body; locked on Lucas’s every movement.

 

Lucas had taken his pants off somewhere along the line and was pulling a condom over his erection. His eyes were centered on Tim and the display of his body; wide open and ready to receive him. It didn’t take Lucas long to prepare himself with lube and then he was leaning forward, mouth unerringly finding Tim’s again while his erection slid alongside Tim’s. Tim’s groans grew louder and more helpless and then Lucas was shifting, his erection moving to slide between Tim’s butt cheeks and press maddeningly at his opening.

 

Tim didn’t hear himself gasping, asking for Lucas to do it. He only felt desire that ripened into passion as soon as Lucas finally relented and pressed his erection into Tim’s body. Tim felt himself stretching painfully to accept Lucas’s girth and for a second he could only arch beneath him; cock ramrod straight and body straining. Lucas paused, his lips raining kisses along Tim’s mouth and jawline, until Tim was able to relax and the pain receded.

 

When Lucas moved, Tim’s thoughts scattered like leaves in the wind.

 

Pleasure blossomed in Tim; a small bit at first that expanded incredibly fast and soon took over his whole mind. Lucas rocked into him; pulling his cock out and pressing it back in; a maddeningly slow movement at first that let Tim feel every second of pleasure that his body could endure. Tim arched and writhed and pressed up against Lucas; his feet braced against the rug to give a better angle while his body worked with Lucas’s in the rolling of their hips. Tim moaned, wordlessly begging for more, and just when he felt like he was going to go insane from pleasure just on the cusp of his reach, Lucas complied.

 

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh mingled with their moans and gasps. Tim felt himself nearly come the first time Lucas shoved into him faster, deeper. His toes curled against the rug and he shook his head helplessly, his head thrown back and body quaking. His fingers dug into the tendrils of the rug and he nearly lost himself in pleasure. Somehow Lucas sensed it and held back just long enough for Tim to, gasping, regain his control.

 

Then they were rocking against each other in heady abandon and Tim’s moans grew to echo in the wide open room, intermingled with Lucas’s quieter groans.

 

Lucas was a confident but gentle lover; worshiping every piece of Tim that he touched as if he were a priceless piece of art to be handled properly. There was skill and passion in his lips and tongue and hands, and the burn of his eyes when he stared down at Tim.

 

As Lucas brought him closer to orgasm Tim let it all slide away for the moment; the fears and uncertainty and hopelessness that had plagued him too often the last few years. He let himself forget about everything and focus solely on the pleasure of a body moving against his, and the heat of an orgasm curling in his stomach and flooding him with anticipation.

 

His hand snapped down to his cock not long after and this time Lucas allowed it; plowing deep into Tim with heat and pressure that made Tim feel dizzy.

 

He hadn’t been touched like this in years and it was making it all come back.

 

_Blue eyes hovering over his and soft lips he’d kissed innumerable times smiling down at him._

_Black hair mingling with his._

_Their fingers intertwined as they panted, trying to stay silent in Tim’s bedroom even though Tim never managed that. Inevitably, his voice was always freed from him with throaty moans and hoarse words saying how good it felt._

_Moaning his best friend and lover’s name like a desperate prayer._

 

Those memories were muted with the alcohol and heat, and for a moment with his eyes closed he grew confused by thoughts of other touches against his skin. The memory of Damian’s hands brushing against him and that uncontrollable flash of electricity that always seemed to linger behind. Those pale green eyes burning into him and that hard body with water sliding down it from a recent shower.

 

A thought came unbidden to his mind: if it felt this good with touches that didn’t ignite his skin, what would it be like with Damian doing this instead? What would it be like to rock against that muscular body, and have that large cock buried deep inside him as their bare skin pressed against each other relentlessly?

 

Lucas’s voice slid through that thought; murmuring words Tim hardly heard as he lost himself in the feel of an erection pressing against his sensitive nerves. His hand quickened on his cock, jerking and sliding and squeezing. Lucas reached beneath Tim’s thighs and pulled him up at a different angle, spearing more deeply into him.

 

Tim’s body snapped, his eyes going wide open as his orgasm abruptly slammed through him. He came hard, his hand still jerking helplessly against his cock and his whole body tense and arching beneath Lucas. Tim was moaning, nearly shouting with the intensity of the pleasure ripping through him, and for a second he didn’t see the room around him. All he saw were white sparks dancing behind his eyes and all he felt was rapture rushing through his blood.

 

When he was finished, he panted heavily and slumped down. His body was sated and heavy from the rush of orgasm. Lucas kept rocking into him, his hands squeezing against Tim’s thighs until his moans became more urgent and breathy. Then his body was snapping, his hips helplessly jerking more quickly against the pressured heat of Tim’s body, and he came. He still rolled his hips against Tim for a few seconds as he finished, wringing every bit of pleasure out of it for both of them. Tim lay back against the rug, exhaustion mingling with satiation, and languished in the feel of that hard cock still rolling into him until finally Lucas stopped moving.

 

Lucas’s hands pressed against the rug above Tim’s shoulders and he hovered over Tim, still inside him although Tim could feel him softening. He kissed Tim, their lips pressing against each other and heads tilting just so in order for their tongues to tangle. The kiss lessened and then Lucas’s tongue slid out of Tim’s mouth. He kissed Tim along the side of his lips and then down his jaw, ending once more on the side of his neck. Tim could feel the moist heat of Lucas’s breath against his neck, stirring his long black hair that was spread out on the rug beneath him.

 

And then Lucas was pulling out of him and dropping onto the rug beside him. He pulled the condom off and put it to the side out of the way.

 

For a moment, they didn’t speak while they each fought to catch their breath. Tim felt his body burning from the heat of orgasm and he felt too tired to move. He stared up at the ceiling, his body tingling and eyes falling half shut. Lucas’s hand was on him again, brushing down his cheek and sliding into the strands of his hair, damp from exertion and clinging to his skin. Tim’s head tilted over and he looked at Lucas. The older man was watching him with sated pleasure but there was something else there. Something that could possibly be fondness or perhaps simply satisfaction from great sex.

 

Still, with the passion of the moment starting to cool like the sheen of sweat on his skin, Tim’s mind started working again. The circumstances one by one fell back into place until the reality of what had just happened was undeniable.

 

He’d just had sex with someone for information.

 

It was something he never would have thought he would do and something he couldn’t turn back from having done. The disgust in Damian’s eyes flashed in his mind and he couldn’t get the harsh words out of his head:

 

_I still wouldn’t ever become their little prostitute._

 

Tim looked away from Lucas, his expression becoming blank as he turned his face toward the fireplace. Something curled in his chest at the memory of Damian’s words and he didn’t have the presence of mind to be able to identify what it was. Shame? Defensiveness? Resignation?

 

Even with the wine slowing down his thought process and keeping everything muddled, his head was still clear enough not to forget what had just happened. The affection and gentleness that shone bright in Lucas’ eyes and proved by his actions only underlined to him that their motivations were different. Whatever it was Lucas had wanted from him, even if it was just to have sex with someone he was attracted to, Tim had only ever wanted information. Without that forcing his hand, he never would have been lying here half naked after having let Lucas fuck him.

 

Tim sighed and pushed himself up, his fingers tangling in his hair, trying to comb it out. He noticed the look that Lucas was giving him and it only made that twisting emotion inside him stronger. “Lucas, about that information...”

 

He didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence before Lucas’ phone chimed loudly. Lucas rolled onto his side elegantly, reaching for his pants. He answered the phone and soon stood,walking away.

 

Tim watched Lucas’ bare back disappear into the kitchen. When he didn’t immediately reappear, Tim pushed himself up to a stand and looked for his clothing.

 

He was sitting on the edge of the couch, just finishing with his shoes when Lucas returned. He rested his arms on his knees and watched Lucas with a wary expression. “Unfortunately, I must go. My assistant is arranging a flight as we speak.”

 

Tim’s eyebrows shot up and he stood. “But we haven’t had the chance to talk...” If Lucas still denied him the information even after all this, Tim didn’t now what he would do.

 

Lucas was tying the sash to a robe that hung on his muscular shoulders as he flashed Tim a quick, charming smile. “Do not fret. I have the information on a flash drive, I will send it with you when my driver takes you back to the hotel.”

 

“Oh.” Tim felt warily hopeful about that news but wasn’t going to feel like the mission was over until the flash drive was safely in his hands. Still, he felt a little relieved that Lucas didn’t deflect or ignore the topic again. “Thank you.”

 

“I hope that you will want to see me again someday. Perhaps this was not just for work?” Lucas’ eyes stayed on him for a moment before drifting away.

 

The comment made Tim feel like Lucas really _did_ like him and hoped he would say it was more. And that made him not know what to say. He didn’t want to lead Lucas on or lie to him but at the same time he didn't want to be rude. He didn't dislike Lucas but the reason he’d had sex with him was for work. Still, he didn’t know if the League would need to contact Lucas again so he didn’t want to say the wrong thing. And, more importantly, Lucas had been kind in his own way. He’d welcomed Tim into his home and had made sure Tim had a pleasurable night. He didn’t deserve a slap in the face after all that no matter how often he’d deflected questions about business. Especially since Tim had actually enjoyed some of their conversations.

 

Just as Tim was about to reply, Lucas’ eyes shifted and he looked troubled. “Do you think Grayson will be with you the next time, too?”

 

Whatever fond feeling Tim had for Lucas disappeared abruptly like cold water putting out a fire. It felt like someone had just taken something from him and squeezed. Trent hadn’t had sex with him because he liked him after all. It all came back down to... Grayson.

 

Bitterness like poison seeped through his veins until he was choking on it. He had to force himself to swallow it down with a smile, reminding himself over and over again that a good relationship with Lucas Trent was important. “You’re a very charming man, Lucas,” Tim replied, his smile felt fake on his lips. “I was worried about the information but I still enjoyed my time with you. I can’t say what would happen if we saw each other again, or if Agent Grayson would be with me, but I would be happy to talk to you again. You’re the first person I’ve met since joining the League who has so much in common with me.”

 

“I am glad to hear it.” Lucas came over and kissed Tim’s face again, although he didn’t make an attempt to do anything more.

 

They said their goodbyes, Lucas’ including a brief, lingering touch though Tim only felt cold at it. It wasn’t long until Lucas’ driver appeared at the door, a different one this time, somehow seeming to know the precise moment to appear. That seemed to be the case with all the people Lucas hired.

 

Tim followed the driver down to the town car, and the whole ride back to the hotel he still worried about the flash drive. He was planning to ask about it but when he got out of the car, the driver opened the window and held out a plain white envelope. When Tim reached out to take a hold of the envelope, the driver didn’t let go of it. “Excuse me?” Tim asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion by the act. He studied the driver.

 

The driver was young, around the same age as Trent, and he had blond hair and blue eyes that were shining with barely concealed dislike. His name tag was polished and shining brightly with the name ‘Andrew Pulaski’ and he looked like he wanted to do anything but to give Tim the envelop. “Stay away from him.” The driver hissed. His eyes narrowed. “I don’t know what your agency’s games with him are. First, they sent Grayson over and now, now they sent _you_. If you don’t stay away from him, I _will_ make sure there’s consequences the next time.” Andrew released the envelop abruptly, glaring at Tim the entire time when he left the car.

 

It wasn’t until the door closed behind him that Tim realized the dislike he saw in Andrew Pulaski’s eyes was jealousy. He wondered if Trent knew one of his people was so... fond of him. Perhaps not. It wasn’t something worth pondering over though so Tim pushed it aside. He felt for the flash drive in the envelope. Relief flooded him and he placed it inside an inner pocket and headed toward the bank of elevators inside the hotel. He still felt light-headed from the alcohol and was thinking about Andrew Pulaski and Lucas Trent when he opened the door to the hotel room.

 

Being so distracted, he was nearly hit in the face.

 

He barely dodged out of the way, jerking his head to the side as there was a crash against the wall. It took a second for him to realize that something had been thrown at him, and another second to realize it was the remote to Damian’s collar. The remote had shattered and fallen to pieces, scattered on the floor.

 

Tim looked up, completely taken aback, and saw Damian standing across the room.

 

His eyes were narrowed and body taut, clearly angry. Taken so off guard by nearly getting brained, Tim couldn’t stop himself from demanding, “What the hell?”

 

“What the hell yourself,” Damian said coldly, flexing his fingers. His words were laced with barely concealed ire. Everything from his expression to the tension in his body was humming with hostility.

 

Tim looked down at the remote on the floor and back up at Damian warily. It wasn’t difficult to figure out what Damian what must be thinking, and at the moment he seemed furious enough to snap. Tim didn’t know what could trigger an episode so he quickly tried to think of the best way to explain without making the situation worse like he had done so earlier.

 

“Damian, I wasn’t--”

 

“Don’t give me your fucking--” Damian crossed the room with disturbing speed, stopping only when he was centimeters from Tim’s face. “--bullshit, not again,” he growled, shoving Tim back against the wall. He leaned forward until they were nose to nose, his lips pulled back into a snarl as his eyes glittered dangerously behind his messy black hair. “You like fucking with me, don’t you?”

 

“I’m not fucking with you.” Red flags went off in Tim’s mind. With Damian that close and angry, he didn’t know what would happen. He shifted and started to move around Damian, wanting to have more maneuverability. “Aren’t you even going to let me answer?”

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Damian growled, slamming Tim against the wall with more force, and causing his head to snap back against the wall. A spike of pain shot down Tim’s neck. Before Tim could do anything, he felt his wrists being grabbed and twisted up, and pinned above his head. Damian shoved Tim against the wall with his body, and leaned in close enough for their faces to nearly touch.

 

“What are you going to say?” he asked, his mouth pressing against Tim’s ear, voice low and hateful. The heat of his breath curled against Tim’s skin. “You weren’t going to use it? Then why was it in your pocket? Why did you fucking bring it? Everything you say is bullshit, and a lie, you just fuck with my mind and I’m stupid enough to-- to just let you...”

 

A growl of frustration vibrated in Tim’s eardrum.

 

Tim tried to stay still. The mood Damian was in was violent, dangerous, and it was something that had never been directed at Tim before. But his thoughts kept zeroing in on the feel of his wrists crushed in Damian’s grip, and the knowledge that he couldn’t get away. The immovable press of Damian’s body against his and the confusion of the different distractions that represented.

 

He jerked at his arms without thinking but they didn’t move. His breath quickened at that, his chest rising and falling to brush against Damian’s. He pulled harder and tried to twist away but it was useless. And the more he realized that, the more he wanted Damian to let him go and back up just a step. The vulnerability of the position made it difficult to concentrate on anything but the fear growing in him.

 

“Let me go,” Tim ground out.

 

“I want to hurt you so bad right now,” Damian’s deep voice uttered in his ear, as the grip only tightened.

 

Tim’s breath caught and his stomach fluttered at the words. He struggled but Damian’s body was pressed against his, keeping him flat against the wall. He grit his teeth as his head pressed back against the wall, his heart slamming in his chest as he tried to concentrate on anything but any of the thoughts clamoring for his attention. His fingers curled uselessly above Damian’s hold.

 

“What do you _want_ from me?” he burst out.

 

“I want you to go away,” Damian growled back, tightening his grip until his fingers were digging into Tim violently. His breath was coming fast, and he shook his head. “I was fine before you came along, and now you did this to me and I want to fucking rip your throat out so bad, and I still _can’t_ do it.”

 

Frustration and uncertainty spiked within Tim. “Did what to you?” His fingers tingled as he started to lose feeling in them. “What the hell did I do?”

 

“You made me think that--” There was another frustrated hiss of breath and Damian pulled back slightly so that his eyes were burning into Tim’s while their faces practically pressed together. “I fucking thought--” Damian broke off again, gnashing his teeth and jerking Tim violently against the wall. “He was a helpless, emaciated, fucking drug addict. And I ripped him apart because of what he did to you, and you-- you just treat me like I’m a freak, and you sit there in my face and make nice with Trent and let him take you home and fuck you.”

 

“Goddammit, Damian, it’s not the same thing!” Even if Tim hadn’t been caught by Damian’s body, he would have been caught by the look in his eyes. “It’s--” His lips parted and his eyebrows drew together. His eyes were intense on Damian; tainted with the memories he’d tried so long to ignore and the difficulty of it all being brought up again. “Trent was for work. Everything with you--” He stopped, frustrated by his inability to finish a sentence. “It’s hard for me to talk about like this but it isn’t how it seems to you. I don’t think you’re a--”

 

“Just shut up,” Damian cut him off, shaking his head. They were so close that his hair mingled with Tim’s by the motion, curtaining their faces slightly. “It doesn’t matter—I just want you gone.” Damian’s released Tim’s hands from the wall and then moved his hands up the side of Tim’s neck. Damian’s hands were shaking slightly; from frustration or rage, Tim didn’t know. But when Damian’s fingers moved up to dig into Tim’s face as their foreheads touched and air shared between their mouths, Damian didn’t seem to have a very good handle on the situation at all. The decisiveness and confidence he usually maintained was gone in the place of this ragged desperation and anger.

 

“I wish I could hate you. You make me so fucking angry all the time, you make me act this way--”

 

With his hands free, the tension and fear that had been thrumming in the back of Tim’s mind dissipated. He reached up to where Damian was painfully gripping the side of his face, his fingers around Damian’s wrist. He didn’t know what he planned to do but when he felt Damian’s heartbeat pulsing faintly against his fingers, it sidetracked whatever movement he’d intended. He shifted his thumb absently across Damian’s skin, feeling the rise and fall of his tendons and veins.

 

For a moment, he didn’t know what to think. Damian’s eyes felt too close; too phenomenally green and far too intense and focused on him. And when Tim’s lips parted, any words he’d planned to say briefly failed him when their lips brushed. He could feel Damian’s breath, heating his skin, and feel the tickle of that silky black hair against his temple. His fingers twitched against Damian’s wrist and his head tilted slightly; just enough to feel that maddening touch against his lips again.

 

He hadn’t realized his eyes had dropped to look down at Damian’s mouth until he felt his eyelashes barely brush against Damian. He looked back up, those green eyes drawing in his attention to the exclusion of all else.

 

“What--” His voice sounded too thick the first time so he stopped and started again. “What do you want me to say?”

 

Every word caused their lips to brush together more, and Damian seemed to unconsciously lean into it. “Nothing,” he said, his voice the same angry growl. A ragged breath escaped his throat.

 

His fingers did not become any gentler even as the word brought their mouths together again, this time with more pressure. He leaned in again, his fingers digging in harder and his body pressing in closer despite the fact that his body was still taut with barely concealed rage. Even with the violent blackness still emanating from him, he seemed unable to create space between them despite the intimacy that it was creating.

 

Every time Damian’s lips touched his, Tim felt a current pass through him that made it harder and harder to think. The obvious anger wasn’t enough anymore to stop Tim from being aware of every plane of Damian’s body, pressing against him. Even with the pain of Damian’s fingers digging into him he couldn’t ignore the addictive feel of Damian’s bare skin beneath his fingertips, or the fire that burned in those green eyes. Tim’s breath let out shakily and his fingers tightened on Damian’s wrist.

 

“Then--” he started to say.

 

He was cut off when Damian’s mouth crushed against his in a hard kiss.

 

The kiss took away whatever control Tim had. His hands jerked up to grip Damian’s arms and a ragged groan wrenched from the depths of his throat. Their lips and tongues were warring with each other before Tim even realized he’d opened his mouth.

 

Suddenly Damian’s taste was all around him; intoxicating and making him crave more. Every time he’d been attracted to Damian and had ignored it, every time he’d wondered what Damian would feel like pressed against him, came back at him in an overwhelming wave of desire. He wanted-- _needed_ \-- more. He had to taste every centimeter of Damian and feel every millimeter of him press him to the wall. He had to swallow every muffled moan and dig his fingers into those hard, muscular arms.

 

Damian’s long fingers slid through his hair, ripping his head back as he continued to explore Tim’s mouth with his tongue. The same harsh desperation was present in the way he kissed Tim, in the way his hands gripped him violently. But the hunger in it, the hot frantic pace, sent sparks of fire shooting through Tim’s body.

 

They panted against each other’s mouths, teeth clicking together at times as they ravaged each other sloppily, noisily, as low groans echoed in the otherwise silent room.

 

A low swear escaped Damian’s mouth when after awhile one, or both of them, began grinding against the other almost unconsciously.

 

Damian yanked Tim forward like a rag doll and before Tim’s spinning mind could even comprehend the fast, savage motions, he was on the floor and Damian was on top of him.

 

Tim threw his head back and gasped loudly as the new position gave more strength to the grinding of their hips. He was almost uncomfortably hard, his body coming alight to every brush and push and pull of Damian’s hands on his body. He felt dizzy with the savage passion of the moment and the jerking motion of their bodies.

 

His hands scrambled across Damian’s back, fingers gripping and digging in; scrabbling for a place to hold while at the same time wanting to touch every part of him.

 

Damian’s mouth was on his; his hands tangled in Tim’s long hair and pulling back. Their kiss was all nipping and sucking and jaws working hectically and Tim had never experienced anything like it. He felt swept away by the pure, unbridled hunger with which they devoured each other whole.

 

Tim slammed his hips up against Damian’s, his breath quick and frantic and not enough to fuel his feverish mind. Damian’s lips pulled away and the loss was nearly devastating until Tim felt Damian’s hot breath traveling down his neck. Moist heat followed the erotic feel of Damian licking him, followed almost immediately by his teeth nicking him.

 

Tim’s body arched up against Damian with an, “Ahh!” that became, “Ohh fu--” and then a groaning shout.

 

Lips that were pressed red from hungered kissing dropped wide open and Tim’s body was taut with a nearly overwhelming desire to feel everything of Damian at once.

 

Suddenly, the layer of clothing between them was too much. His hands jerked down to Damian’s waistband and, trembling with the need to feel Damian’s naked erection against his own, he started to unbutton Damian’s pants. His thumbs and fingers felt clumsy and every part of him was yearning toward Damian until Damian’s hand sliding beneath his shirt made his heart nearly stop.

 

Tension of a different sort slammed through Tim’s veins like ice. He grabbed Damian’s wrist and pulled it away, starting to say, “Wait.”

 

Damian twisted out of Tim’s grip and closed powerful fingers around his wrist. He slammed Tim’s arm down impatiently, pinning it to the floor. Tim jerked at his arm automatically but Damian only tightened his grip. Fear was like cold water running through Tim’s veins; a chill raising the hair on his skin.

 

“Damian, wait--” he burst out in growing alarm.

 

There was no chance for thought. Damian’s other hand was already going for his shirt.

 

The terror of being held down took on a whole new level that transcended the moment. The fear that was so ingrained within him at the idea of anyone seeing his bare chest made him feel nauseated and exposed and far too vulnerable-- The grip of that hand on his wrist suddenly grew more ominous and the fear he’d felt earlier returned with a vengeance-- the knowledge that he was entirely at someone else’s disposal and they could do anything-- they could hurt him and no one would hear him scream--

 

Tim panicked.

 

“No!” he shouted, the word wrenching out of him.

 

He struggled furiously beneath Damian; not feeling when Damian’s grip changed or when the weight of his body started to pull away. His eyes were blind to everything around him. All he knew was someone was restricting his movement and he needed to get away but he couldn’t-- he couldn’t, he was trapped and anyone could do anything to him and he wouldn’t be able to stop it--

 

He lashed out violently, one fist catching Damian on the shoulder as he hardly even registered himself screaming, “No, no, don’t touch me--”

 

The next thing he knew he was sitting up, his knees drawn to his chest and hair awry. His body trembled with tension and fear and his heart jack-hammered against his ribs in a painful rhythm that nearly stumbled over itself in alarm. His lips were parted as he panted heavily and his fingers gripped his knees while, wild-eyed, he stared at Damian.

 

There was confusion in Damian’s green eyes; confusion that was mixed with something else that wasn’t as readily identifiable. But both emotions faded quickly until Damian’s face was inscrutable. Without a word, he stood and walked into his room.

 

Tim stayed crouched there for a minute; shaking and overwhelmed. He dropped his head into his hands, his fingers digging painfully into his hair and yanking back, and he dropped his forehead forward. The ragged panting of his breath caught moisture between his chest and knees and he felt sick to his stomach. He couldn’t even fully comprehend what had just happened; the vestiges of panic were still shifting their way around his pounding heart and the scattered thoughts of his mind.

 

His head pounded to the drumbeat of his heart and his stomach clenched inwardly. He had to swallow back bile and fight against the confusion that swirled around him maddeningly like a snow storm. When he finally was able to come to grips with the situation, he hissed out a harsh breath against his knees. Exhaustion was a seductive pull on his mind and body. When he pushed himself to a stand, he looked past Damian’s shut door but couldn’t go over there. He had no words for anything; no way to think properly about any of this and certainly nothing that could make it better.

 

He was still feeling the fear too keenly, and with it came the memories that had been bubbling too close to the surface lately. There was too much vying for his attention; too many thoughts and feelings and clustered, contrasting feelings cluttering up his head. He felt so weary and, in some ways, scared. Scared of all the things that were happening and the lack of control over so much, and the knowledge that his body and his mind were sometimes running full speed in opposite directions, with him left behind feeling torn.

 

He disappeared into his bedroom, leaving the palpable feeling of leftover tension behind in the common room. He couldn’t think and didn’t want to, and knew the luxury of a blank mind would not extend to the hours of the night. His mind was on overdrive despite the pressure of exhaustion on his body. He lay there for what felt like hours, eyes alternatively wide open and squeezed shut, and his teeth gritting as he tried to hold together control of his emotions.

 

What little sleep finally overtook him was filled with restless, harrowing nightmares, and dreams where everything went horribly wrong and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

 

* * *

 

The next morning came far too quickly. Tim’s eyes burned as if he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep and his body felt creaky and hollow, like a dusty old house. He hit the alarm clock a little harder than he’d meant to, and it was a process to drag himself out of bed and pack his clothing. He felt the presence of the door to the main room behind him like a hard stare centered on his back. When he could no longer delay it, he went out into common room.

 

Damian was sitting on the couch, his bag ready to go and resting near him. He wasn’t doing or saying anything but cold silence filled the room like a muffling blanket. Tim felt it strongly and noticed that Damian didn’t look over even at the sound of the door opening.

 

At first, Tim went about finishing packing. He put away his jacket and felt far too aware of the broken remote in the corner when he went to retrieve his trench coat. He kept glancing at Damian in the corner of his eye, wondering if he should say anything and at the prospect feeling such an overwhelming lack of inspiration that it dried up any words in his throat.

 

When everything was ready and he had nothing to do but hover there awkwardly, he checked his watch and saw that they still had about fifteen minutes until they needed to go downstairs even early to catch the ride to the plane. He perched on the arm of the couch and looked over at Damian.

 

“Damian, I...” Tim started to say, his voice seeming abrupt in the quiet. Damian looked over, his green eyes cold and unreadable.

 

The blank set of Damian’s features made Tim’s throat close. The words that had been difficult to say before now felt nearly impossible under the weight of the previous night. Even without that, what could he say? I didn’t mean to hurt you? I need some time alone to think? I never meant for any of this to happen?

 

None of that would mean anything.

 

He closed his mouth, looking away with a troubled look. After a second, he shook his head and stood. He turned his back on Damian but then paused and looked over. His eyebrows drew together.

 

The only words that came to mind were, “I-- was never going to use that.” He gestured at the remote.

 

“Okay.”

 

The flat words didn’t give Tim any indication as to whether Damian believed him.

 

Tim let the silence stretch but the fact that Damian spoke at all seemed like it could be a good sign. He hesitated, and then forced himself to push on before he could lose the ability to say even this much.

 

“And, last night, I--” He stopped, searching for words with his hands rising briefly. He dropped his hands into his lap and shook his head. “I panicked.”

 

“I have no idea why such a ridiculous thing happened anyway,” Damian replied in the same blank tone. He pulled a cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it on. “I’m not usually in the habit of wanting to finish someone’s leftovers.”

 

The comment felt like a slap in the face. Tim opened his mouth but words didn’t come at first.

 

It wasn’t something he could deny.

 

Going into this trip he hadn’t planned to have sex with anyone, and he certainly hadn’t planned to move on to nearly fucking Damian right after he’d finished with Trent. That behavior was completely uncharacteristic of him and he still couldn’t fully say what happened.

 

But then, he hadn’t expected to feel that drugged heat of Damian’s body shoved against his. Or for a hectic hunger he’d never felt before to steal away his thoughts and make him unable to stop from wanting more and more of his partner. If Damian hadn’t accidentally triggered ingrained thoughts and memories that made him panic, they probably would have continued.

 

The worst part was, even in the light of morning looking back on the follies of the day before, he couldn’t forget the electricity that had shot through him at every one of Damian’s touches. He couldn’t forget the way his body had craved Damian like an addiction.

 

And he couldn’t say that he didn’t still want it, even knowing how awkward and cold things were, and knowing Damian was angry with him, and knowing it was probably impossible that anything like that would ever happen again.

 

Even knowing all that, he couldn’t regret what had happened, what had almost happened, and he couldn’t ignore the part of him that was unable to deny his attraction to Damian any longer. He couldn’t put the whole thing down to some silly mistake or being drunk, because he’d been noticing Damian for months.

 

The inclusion of Trent the night before-- If that ruined things between them, if it took away an opportunity he hadn’t planned to pursue but had been given the chance to follow anyway...

 

Tim’s eyebrows lowered as he watched Damian. “So-- if it hadn’t been for Trent last night...”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore. It’s bad enough that I behaved that way at all.”

 

Damian shoved his phone into the pocket of his cargo pants and stood up, grabbing his pack. He seemed to be studiously avoiding making eye contact, his full mouth turned down into a scowl-- the first signs of an expression since the conversation had begun.

 

Tim watched Damian for a moment, wondering what that meant and whether Damian regretted what had happened, the way he said he’d regretted ever trying to help Tim in the first place. Not wanting to push it, or maybe more than that not wanting to find out that was true, he looked away and let the topic drop.

 

It wasn’t long until it was time to head to the airport. The plane ride home was spent in silence between the two of them. Tim didn’t know what to say or even if he wanted to talk at all, and Damian didn’t speak.

 

Tim used his League panel to write the report during the long hours they were in the air. When he was finished and sent it off on the secure connection, he found himself staring at the blank screen. With nothing to distract him further and Damian’s presence next to him, he couldn’t help going over the previous night.

 

Logically, he understood why he had panicked. He knew it stemmed from Kon’s murder and everything that had happened afterward. He’d known since then that any time he was held down or he lost control of a situation, it scared him. Even if the other person had no intention of hurting him, he couldn’t help panicking, reliving memories at times and at other times simply reliving the fear in the automatic struggling of his body.

 

Even logically knowing that Damian probably hadn’t intended or meant to hurt him didn’t mean he’d been able to so easily convince the adrenaline-laced aftermath in his body. Or fully ignore the disturbed, nearly nauseated feeling at the thought of anyone bearing witness to the memory of a time he’d struggled for so long to deal with. It was a Domino effect of thoughts and reactions that triggered every time the idea came up that someone was going to touch his bare chest or see him when he didn’t want to be seen.

 

And since he never even wanted to look at himself in the mirror-- the very idea of it aversive to him-- there was never a point when he wanted to be touched; wanted to be seen. Never a point when the idea of it didn’t fill him with fear, and the act of it making it worse.

 

He found himself watching Damian out of the corner of his eye occasionally but Damian’s expression hadn’t changed. Although they sat next to each other, their arms occasionally brushing each other due to the close quarters, they interacted as little as if they were miles apart. Tim tried to sleep a few times and was only marginally successful.

 

Tim felt like they had been gone much longer than a couple of days when they made it back to the League. He checked to make sure the report had been received and found that the debriefing was set a few hours later. He decided to go home to shower and change.

 

For some reason, once he was home alone, time seemed to drag endlessly. He felt isolated in those empty rooms and it was more difficult not to think too much about everything that had happened on the trip. The argument with Damian. The night at Trent’s. Those heated few minutes with Damian and the subsequent fall out. He dropped his forehead into his hands, sitting on the edge of his couch and closing his eyes against the thoughts pounding through his head.

 

When he left his house, he noticed his neighbor Mrs. Hensley watching him openly through her kitchen window. When she saw his head tilt in her direction, the blinds abruptly fell down with a swish. He resisted the urge to shake his head and just got into his vehicle.

 

She had been eyeing his family for most of his life but it had grown even more pronounced the last few years. He was fairly certain she’d witnessed a time he and Lou had messed around in the living room, one night when they’d forgotten to close the shades. The memory was bittersweet and filled with the weight of loss, and he sighed when he put his car into reverse. He couldn’t think too much about Lou or the pain of it all would distract him during the meeting.

 

When he walked into the conference room, he saw that most of them were already there and seated. He paused very briefly before deciding to take his usual spot at Damian’s side.

 

“Hey Tim,” Steph greeted him with a smile.

 

“Hi,” Tim replied. He sat back in the chair, his fingers absently tightening around the flash drive in his pocket the way they had on and off since he’d been given the information. He was anxious to give it over to Clark.

 

“I’m busy right after this,” Steph said quietly, when the door opened and General Kent came in. “But can I call you later? I wanted to see if we could set up a training thing like we talked about before.”

 

“Of course,” Tim said with a nod, although his eyes strayed to Clark like a magnet. The flash drive was burning a hole in his mind. He was tempted to give it to Clark immediately but decided to wait until the appropriate time.

 

“I was think--”

 

“First of all, good job Tim,” Clark cut Stephanie off as soon as he sat down. He glanced over at Cassandra and nodded. The analyst seemed to take that as a cue because she began going through whatever documents she had before her. Cass was one of the rare people who still preferred paperwork to electronic copies in some circumstances. “Not only did Trent come through for us for the first time, but you managed to develop a romantic relationship with him that may be helpful to us in the future.”

 

Next to Cass, Kate’s fingers paused briefly in her typing and she looked sidelong at Clark before returning her gaze to Tim with a raised eyebrow. She somehow managed to look disparaging and smug at once, without saying a single word.

 

Meanwhile, Stephanie looked at Tim in surprise, her expression mirrored by Cassandra.

 

Tim kept his expression perfectly blank, although he couldn’t help a spike of irritation by the cavalier way the General had mentioned that. He hadn’t planned to tell everyone since it wasn’t really anyone’s business anyway. And as far as that went, what did he mean by it being helpful in the future? He hoped Clark simply meant they could play on the way Trent had seemed to like him, and not that they expected any of that to happen again.

 

He dug into his pocket, wondering also why General Kent seemed so confident about information they hadn’t even seen yet. The flash drive had been too heavily encrypted for Tim to even know what was on it. He avoided eye contact with the others and held the flash drive out to Clark.

 

“Do you want this now or later?”

 

“Kate will take it. She’s been decoding the information since early yesterday, but it is always good to have a hard copy.”

 

Tim felt the room go still around him. Early yesterday? How could they possibly... The flash drive felt heavy in his hand as he stared at General Kent.

 

“Yesterday?” His voice came out surprisingly even considering the way his mind was racing.

 

The General nodded, not seeming to notice anything was amiss. “Yes, Trent emailed the information early yesterday morning. We haven’t gotten far yet, but judging from the level of encryption-- well, Stephanie can explain it.”

 

Damian turned his head and stared at Tim for a long moment before letting his pale green eyes drift away.

 

The information made Tim’s mouth go dry and he dropped his hand to the table, the flash drive still clutched in his hand. When he calculated the time difference in his head, that meant Trent must have sent it to the League after their lunch but before Tim had gone to his loft.

 

Anger coursed through Tim. That bastard. Trent had refused to talk business and had strung Tim along until he’d felt the crunch of time-- until Trent’s advances had been what Tim had felt were his sole hope for getting the information-- And all along it had already been sent?

 

Had the wine been to make him more compliant? All that talk that had made Tim feel sympathetic toward him, all those times Trent had changed the subject to a topic that Tim could identify with, all those times Trent had acted like he liked Tim--

 

Had anything been real or had he been playing Tim all along?

 

He’d gotten Tim to have sex with him based on needing information he’d already sent, and then had the audacity to ask Tim whether it had all been about work for him-- and Tim had even felt bad for the man. He’d felt like he was the one being an asshole by not reciprocating affection toward Trent-- affection he was now doubting had ever been anything more than part of a carefully crafted game. All that second-guessing and the hesitation and the arguments with Damian and the possible degradation of their partnership-- for nothing. For a man who’d manipulated everything just so he could fuck an agent he wanted to fuck, and not even then, Tim suspected the one Trent wanted had been Agent Grayson, not him -- And the whole time Tim had known Trent was known to be manipulative, he’d known he could be a seducer, but he’d thought he’d been in control. He’d thought it was the only choice he had...

 

He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. He sat back in his chair, hardly hearing a word of the meeting around him as he brooded about how furious and disgusted he was with the entire situation.

 

He started paying attention around the point that Stephanie talked about the information more in detail.

 

“There are essentially two files I’ll need to decrypt; what looks like a public-key cryptosystem and a one-time pad. The public-key will take a bit but I should be able to crack it. But the OTP will be a hassle.” She looked up at Clark with a rare serious look. “If they did that right, it’s unbreakable.”

 

Clark stared at her flatly. “So then it’s pointless?”

 

“Not necessarily,” Stephanie replied, straightening her back and looking very much in her element. “Trent plays games but I doubt even he would have given us information we could not decipher. I have some ideas for dealing with this, including checking into some extra files on here that may be nothing. If I were a betting man, I’d say I’m going to have to decipher both main files and somehow combine the information between the two before I can fully understand what exactly is on here. But this is the level of encryption I would expect from the Court, so it lends credence to the idea that it may be legitimate. I just won’t know until I’m done.” She pushed the information toward Cass and Kate.

 

There was a brief silence as Clark rubbed his chin and seemed to take in this information. “How long are we looking at?”

 

Cass shook her head and pushed a sheet of paper back in place on top of the pile. “Hard to say. Weeks. Months, maybe...” Her lips turned down on the edges.

 

Kate leaned over and studied the information. Finally, she decided to fill in. “This is very tricky. If we didn’t have access to the sort of equipment we do here at the League, it could have potentially been years. A lot of it depends on how difficult or random the algorithms are. The one thing I know for sure is the OTP will take awhile. I’ll have to rely on Trent to have given us a clue for that or we will get nowhere with it. But I’m confident I can figure something out.”

 

The General shook his head in disgust. “Leave it to that bastard to give us information that may be out of date by the time it’s decrypted. I guess we will just have to take it on faith that he didn’t screw us.”

 

Kate was looking a bit smug when she looked over at Tim; her tone light when she spoke. “Oh, I think some of it could be taken for fact.”

 

Tim’s eyes narrowed slightly but he didn’t say anything.

 

The rest of the debriefing passed without incident, although Tim noticed everyone glancing at him with contemplation, and in the case of Kate, slight amusement, now and then. She seemed to have taken some amount of delight in knowing what had happened between Trent and Tim. When the debriefing ended, Stephanie reminded him about calling but had to rush off. Clark and Cass were next, with Kate glancing over her shoulder one last time.

 

Tim hadn’t felt like walking out with any of them so he let them all leave. He planned to do the same with Damian, but his partner didn’t leave right away. After a second of waiting, Tim stood and turned to go.

 

“I hope you realize how badly you fucked yourself,” Damian’s deep voice rang out.

 

Tim was half tempted to keep walking but Damian’s words made him pause and look over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

 

Damian scoffed and looked at him flatly, pushing his chair back to stand. “I mean you should have listened to me instead of disregarding what I had to say.”

 

Tim shook his head impatiently. He felt like he’d already received enough slaps in the face with what he’d learned and the looks he’d received during the mission. He didn’t want to have to stand around while Damian rubbed it in his face even more.

 

“Look, if you just wanted to keep me behind to tell me I told you so, I don’t see why we need to talk about it. You said I would regret it. Knowing now how everything turned out, I do.” He spread his hands. “Happy?”

 

Damian shrugged as he looked at Tim scornfully, moving around the table to approach him. He looked his partner up and down, green eyes moving over him slowly before focusing on Tim’s face once again. “It’s strange how I thought I had you figured out, only to realize you’re nothing like you appeared to be.”

 

“What the hell are you talking about?” Tim asked, irritation rising. He wanted to walk out of there but for some reason couldn’t; not with Damian talking to him. “Weren’t you the one trying to get me to go off with that girl in the diner? Why was one time of casual sex so acceptable to you there but suddenly so terrible when I made a mistake thinking I had to do it with Trent?”

 

“Because doing something for yourself, and doing something for the League are entirely different things, you idiot.” Damian stopped and stared at Tim before shaking his head. “You pretty much submitted a resume to become a valentine, and you’re attempting to compare that to sleeping with a waitress?”

 

Tim looked at Damian, uncomprehend what he was hearing. He didn’t submit any resumes to become a Valentine. “What are you talking about?”

 

There was a long silence as Damian glared at him with increasing impatience and hostility. “You are the _worst_. So willing to do anything for the cause, but you don’t even know basic things about the cause you’re rushing off to do anything for.” He walked closer to Tim, until they were once again face to face. Damian raised his eyebrows, not looking at all sympathetic as he said coldly, “Let me explain it to you from the beginning for your slow mind to understand. A _valentine_ is a usually young, more attractive than average field operative who is sent on missions that require things of a sexual nature. And you put your name in the fucking hat.”

 

Tim’s eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up. “What?” he burst out incredulously. “Why the hell would they-- But no one ever said anything about that. I don’t want to have my name in for that kind of assignment.”

 

“Too late, idiot. You basically asked for the title. Why the hell do you think I kept telling you not to do it? Because I was so desperate to ensure that you stay chaste?”

 

“Well a little more fucking information would have been helpful,” Tim shot back testily. Although he was largely angry with himself, he couldn’t help lashing out at Damian. He made an easy target for his frustration. “I just thought you were pissed at me because it involved Trent and the League, neither of which you seem to like. Why didn’t you mention valentines before instead of being so vague in your warnings?” Oh god… Was this why Damian was so furious when Tim called his brother out on being a Valentine agent…?

 

Damian gave him another unimpressed stare. Judging from the look on his face, he seemed to think Tim was a hopeless idiot. “Because I didn’t know you were completely ignorant. Don’t blame me because you were so quick to fuck for information. I tried to warn you, and you didn’t want to hear what I had to say. Take responsibility for your own bullshit. Or maybe next time, inquire as to why I’m so against it instead of just assuming whatever nonsense it was that you assumed.”

 

Tim gritted his teeth and he looked away with his arms crossed. His eyebrows drew down broodingly, his eyes narrowing. He felt so incredibly frustrated by everything that had happened that he didn’t even know what to do with the overwhelming feelings.

 

And the worst part was that he really didn’t have anyone to push the blame on.

 

He was furious with Trent for manipulating him like that, for being so evasive and playing with Tim until he was put in a position where he thought he had no choice. But he was also upset with himself for the possibility of that one mistake becoming something that could haunt him. With Trent not there and himself otherwise to blame, there was no release for his anger and frustration.

 

After a moment he restlessly pushed his hair back from his face. “Well-- How do I tell them not to mark me that way? I only meant it to be a one-time thing, and even then it was because of the circumstances.”

 

This earned him a completely incredulous stare and Damian grabbed his arm, appearing to lose all patience with him. “Don’t you get it? Are you fucking oblivious? It’s not up to you. Now that you put the idea in the air, they’ll take it and run.”

 

“But there has to be something I can do,” Tim nearly shouted back, the frustration making his eyes shine when he stared up at Damian. He jerked at his arm and made a sharp gesture while his other hand curled into a fist. His body thrummed with tension. “I don’t know, a-- a review board, or-- what if I talked to General Kent? What if he put in a word for me? I’d be terrible at that kind of assignment. They wouldn’t even want me for it anyway. There has to be some sort of oversight that I can contact or lobby... Even if it’s the Marshal.” His head snapped to Damian in a rare move of desperation. “Richard Grayson! He was only a Valentine for a year! What did he do? Damian, what did he do to get out of it?” He asked, his fingers trembled with the sheer amount of stress he was under.

 

By this time, Damian was just shaking his head and rubbing a hand across his face. He wasn’t looking at Tim anymore, and when he answered, it was with unfeeling finality. “They own you. They don’t have to ask for permission.” His lips tightened briefly at the mention of his brother. “And I told you to stop talking about Richard like you know him. His situation was different. You think he volunteered like you practically did? _No._ He was _forced_ into it. And the only reason he got out was because he was too precious of an agent to be just a prostitute. The only thing you had going for you was that you were a glorified babysitter for me.” He paused and turned to face Tim, smiling humorlessly. “Now you let them know that you can be used for something else.”

 

Tim stared at Damian for a moment, searching for anything in his body language to say there was something he was holding back-- something to take away from the finality of Damian’s words.

 

But there was nothing.

 

He felt his breath quickening as the reality of the situation crashed down around him. The idea of what he could be asked-- told-- to do, and the knowledge that he had gotten himself into this predicament all on his own. All because he hadn’t understood Damian’s warnings, and because the League had introduced him to this lifestyle but then seemed to keep so much pertinent information from him; even more than normal, from what he’d been able to gather from Stephanie’s responses in the past.

 

He turned away from Damian and pressed his hands against his face. He didn’t even want to think about being assigned anything sexual with a target but it was there in his mind anyway. And with that came the inevitable thought about what he would do if that target tried to pull off his shirt and what if it happened like it had with Damian where he’d panicked? What would the League do to him if he failed a mission because of that? If they punished him it would only make the fear worse and the cycle would continue and what was he going to do? What was he supposed to do about any of this?

 

He felt his eyes pricking and he let out a rough breath. “Fuck,” he hissed to himself.

 

“Exactly,” Damian said without emotion, and walked out of the room

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Referred to chapter 8 with Tim finding out about Dick's Valentine status through Steph's flash drive.
> 
> *winces* So... Happy first kiss? Everyone? I said there'd be a treat, right? So... Yay??? No...? Okay...
> 
> Ahhh... Onto the announcement... Guys, we have officially reached the end of the first arc! So YAY :D I hope you guys found the 100k+ of words exciting to read! :D Because it was certainly exciting for me to write! :D
> 
> Now onto the announcement: I'm putting ItcoM on stasis to partake in JayDick and SladeRobin weeks, as well as the NaNoWriMo this year (I'm just mainly writing up the second arc in this month, I think). I should be back around January 2018 if not sooner if I can complete the arc :) For now, if you want any updates/news on it, please do visit my tumblr :D I will not abandon this story so don't worry, guys :D
> 
> And lastly!!!
> 
> **Next chapter:**
> 
> "Senior Agent Richard Grayson and Senior Agent Jason Todd are joining the team."

**Author's Note:**

> Phew! End of chapter, if you like it, please leave me a few kind words to let me know. I would really appreciate constructive criticism or even just... you know, any words at all. Thank you so much for reading this. Your presence here means a lot to me.
> 
> [Find me on Tumblr!](https://chiakifics.tumblr.com/)


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